Redemption of Darkness
by Beggs
Summary: Full Summary on Profile. Edit 12/23/09: As of now, officially Abandoned and Up for Adoption!
1. Wars of Time

Author Notes: The Sequel is here! This time, the story is gonna focus a little on both Harry AND Anakin. However, Harry is sent back in time, to the war-stricken age of the Mandalorian Wars. Thanks to all of the reviewers of my previous story, especially the ones that gave me the awesome critiques! I'm gonna try to put a LOT more detail in this story, and hopefully I can deliver on my part! Thanks to everyone who told me they loved my story! Thanks guys, you're the greatest!

If you haven't read the prequel, its greatly recommended you do. The writing at the very beginning is a little mediocre in the sense of not enough detail, but if you stick with it, by the time you get here, I can promise you're in for some real treats. The last story I was wayyyyyyyyy rushed on, this one I can take a LOT more time to explain with.

So I'm only gonna type this disclaimer once, seeing as I think its stupid to write it for every chapter.

I don't own ANYTHING in this story, except maybe the occasional character, and of course most of the plot. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling and George Lucas, respectively.

Now that THAT is over with, enjoy!

* * *

_Palpatine gazed upon him, loving and gentle as he had ever been, though only a whisker shy of a lightsaber's terminal curve._

_And what if this face was __**not**__ a mask? What if the true face of the Sith was exactly what he saw before him: a man who had cared for him, had helped him, and had been his loyal friend when he'd thought he had no other?_

_What __**then**__?_

"…_**Anakin… always remember who you are…"**__a distant voice from the past seemed to call. __Whose voice was that?__ Anakin silently wondered to himself._

"_Anakin," Palpatine said kindly, pulling Anakin out of his stupor. "Let's talk."_

"_Harry… let me put it this way. If you choose the Elder Wand, with enough training and experience, you can do whatever you wish. After all, it was once said by a very great Force-sensitive, __**'**__**If we were to fight the Masters of Old, we would be child's play compared to them,'**__.__ Does that answer your question Harry?"_

_**I… I…**_

"_I—I choose—" Harry started, shakily, murmuring to himself._

'_**Go on Harry… Live your life as **__**you**__** want to, not as others have set for you…**__'__ a voice that sounded oddly like Darra's ringing in his head._

"_I—I suppose I'll go with the Elder Wand." Harry finished, choosing the Elder Wand. In a flash of bright light, he disappeared through time and space._

* * *

**Chapter One:**

**Wars of Time**

* * *

The Four bodyguard droids spread out in a shallow arc between Obi-Wan and Grievous, raising their electrostaffs. Obi-Wan stopped a respectful distance away' he still carried bruises from one of those electrostaffs, and he felt no particular urge to add to his collection.

"General Grievous," he said, "you're under arrest."

The bio-droid general stalked toward him, passing through his screen of bodyguards without the slightest hint of reluctance.

"Kenobi. Don't tell me, let me guess: this is the part where you give me the chance to surrender."

"It can be," Obi-Wan allowed equably. "Or, if you like, it can be the part where I dismantle your exoskeleton and ship you back to Coruscant in a cargo hopper."

"I'll take option three." Grievous lifted his hand, and the bodyguards moved to box Obi-Wan between them. "That's the one where I watch you die."

Another gesture, and the droids in the ceiling hive came to life.

They uncoiled from their sockets heads-downward, with a rising chorus of whirring and buzzing and clicking that thickened until Obi-Wan might as well have stumbled into an colony of Corellian raptor-wasps. They began to drop free of the ceiling, first only a few, then many, like the opening drops of a summer cloudburst; finally they fell in a downpour that shook the stone-mounted durasteel of the deck and left Obi-Wan's ears ringing. Hundreds of them landed and rolled to standing; as many more stayed attached to the overhead hive, hanging upside down by their magnapeds, weapons trained so that Obi-Wan now stood at the focus of a dome of blasters.

Through it all, Obi-Wan never moved.

"I'm sorry, was I not clear?" he said. "There is no _option three._"

Grievous shook his head. "Do you never tire of this pathetic banter?"

"I rarely tire at all," Obi-Wan said mildly, "and I have no better way to pass the time while I wait for you to either decide to surrender, or choose to die."

"That choice was made long before I ever met _you_." Grievous turned away. "Kill him."

Instantly the box of bodyguards around Obi-Wan filled with crackling electrostaffs whipping faster than the human eye could see—which was less troublesome than it might have been, for that box was already empty of Jedi.

The Force had let him collapse as though he'd suddenly fainted, then it brought his lightsaber from his belt to his hand and ignited it while he turned his fall into a roll; that roll carried his lightsaber through a crisp arc that severed the leg of one of the bodyguards, and as the Force brought Obi-Wan back to his feet, the Force also nudged the crippled bodyguard to topple sideways into the path of the blade and sent it clanging to the floor in two smoking, sparking pieces.

One down.

The remaining three pressed the attack, but more cautiously; their weapons were longer than his, and they struck from beyond the reach of his blade. He gave way before them, his defensive velocities barely keeping their crackling discharge blades at bay.

Three MagnaGuards, each with a double-ended weapon that generated an energy field impervious to lightsabers, each with reflexes that operated near lightspeed, each with hypersophicsticated heuristic combat algorithms that enabled it to learn from experience and adapt its tactics instantly to any situation, were certainly beyond Obi-Wan's ability to defeat, but it was not Obi-Wan who would defeat them; Obi-Wan wasn't even fighting. He was only a vessel, emptied of self. The Force, shaped by his skill and guided by his clarity of mind, fought through him.

In the Force, he felt their destruction: it was somewhere above and behind him, and only seconds away.

He went to meet it with a back flipping leap that the Force used to lift him neatly to an empty droid socket in the ceiling hive. The MagnaGuards sprang after him but he was gone by the time they arrived, leaping higher into the maze of girders and cables and room-sized cargo containers that was the control center's superstructure.

_Here_, said the Force within him, and Obi-Wan stopped, balancing on a girder, frowning back at the oncoming killer droids that leapt from beam to beam below him like malevolent durasteel primates. Though he could feel its close approach, he had no idea from where their destruction might come… until the Force showed him a support beam within reach of his blade and whispered, _Now_.

His blade flicked out and the durasteel beam parted, fresh-cut edges glowing white hot, and a great hulk of ship-sized cargo container that the beam had been supporting tore free of its other supports with shrieks of anguished metal and crashed down upon all three MagnaGuards with the finality of a meteor strike.

Two, three, and four.

_Oh_, thought Obi-Wan with detached approval. _That worked out rather well._

Only ten thousand more to go. Give or take.

An instant later the Force had him hurtling through a storm of blaster fire as every combat droid in the control center opened up on him at once.

Letting go of intention, letting go of desire, letting go of life, Obi-Wan fixed his entire attention on a thread of the Force that pulled him toward Grievous: not where Grievous was, but where Grievous would be when Obi-Wan got there…

Leaping girder to girder, slashing cables on which to swing through swarms of ricocheting particle beams, blade flickering so fast it became a deflector shield that splattered blaster bolts in all directions, his presence alone became a weapon: as he spun and whirled through the control center's superstructure, the blasts of particle cannons from power droids destroyed equipment and shattered girders and unleashed a torrent of red-hot debris that crashed to the deck, crushing droids on all sides. By the time he flipped down through the air to land cat footed on the deck once more, nearly half the droids between him and Grievous had been destroyed by their own not-so-friendly fire.

He cut his way into the mob of remaining troops as smoothly as if it were no more than a canebrake near some sunlit beach; his steady pace left behind a trail of smoking slices of droid.

"Keep _firing_!" Grievous roared to the spider droids that flanked him. "_Blast him!_"

Obi-Wan felt the massive shoulder cannon of a spider droid track him, and he felt it fire a bolt as powerful as a proton grenade, and he let the Force nudge him into a leap that carried him just far enough towards the fringe of the bolt's blast radius so that instead of shattering his bones it merely gave him a very strong, very hot _push_—

—that sent him whirling over the rest of the droids to land directly in front of Grievous.

A single slash of his lightsaber amputated the shoulder cannon of one power droid and continued into a spinning Force-assisted kick that brought his boot heel to the point of the other power droid's duranium chin, snapping the droid's head back hard enough to sever its cervical sensor cables. Blind and dear, the power droid could only continue to obey its last order; it staggered in a wild circle, its convulsively firing cannon blasting random holes in droids and walls alike, until Obi-Wan deactivated it with a precise thrust that burned a thumb-sized hole through its thoracic braincase.

"General," Obi-Wan said with blandly polite smile as though unexpectedly greeting, on the street, someone he privately disliked. "My offer is still open."

Droid guns throughout the control center fell silent; Obi-Wan stood so close to Grievous that the general was in the line of fire.

Grievous threw back his cloak imperiously. "Do you believe that I would surrender to you _now_?"

"I am still willing to take you alive." Obi-Wan's nod took in the smoking, sparking wreckage that filled the control center. "So far, no one has been hurt."

Grievous tilted his head so that he could squint down into Obi-Wan's face. "I have _thousands_ of troops. You cannot defeat them all."

"I don't have to."

"This is _your_ last chance to surrender, General Kenobi." Grievous swept a duranium hand toward the sinkhole-city behind him. "Pau City is in my grip; lay down your blade, or I will _squeeze_… until this entire sinkhole brims over with innocent blood."

"That's not what it's about to brim with," Obi-Wan said. "You should pay more attention to the weather."

Yellow eyes narrowed behind a mask of armorplast. "What?"

"Have a look outside." He pointed his lightsaber toward the archway. "It's about to start raining clones."

Grievous said again, turning to look, "What?"

A shadow had passed over the sun as though one of the towering thunderheads on the horizon had caught a stray current in the hyperwinds and settled above Pau City. But it wasn't a cloud.

It was the _Vigilance_.

While the twilight enfolded the sinkhole, over the bright desert above assault craft skimmed the dunes in a tightening ring centered on the city. Hailfire droids rolled out from caves in the wind-scoured mesas, unleashing firestorms of missiles toward the oncoming craft for exactly 2.5 seconds apiece, which was how long it took for the _Vigilance_'s sensor operators to transfer data to its turbolaser batteries.

Thunderbolts roared down through the atmosphere, and hailfire droids disintegrated. Pinpoint counterfire from the bubble turrets of LAAT/i's met missiles in blossoming fireballs that were ripped to shreds of smoke as the oncoming craft blasted through them.

LAAT/i's streaked over the rim of the sinkhole and spiraled downward with all guns blazing, crabbing outward to keep their forward batteries raking on the sinkhole's wall, while at the rim above, _Jadthu_-class armored Landers hovered with bay doors wide, trailing sprays of polyplast cables like immense ice-white tassels that looped all the way to the ocean mouths that gaped at the lowest level of the city. Down those tassels, rappelling so fast they seemed to be simply falling, came endless streams of armored troopers, already firing on the combat droids that marched out to meet them.

Streamers of cables brushed the outer balcony of the control center, and down them slid white-armored troopers, each with one hand on his mechanized line-brake and the other full of DC-15 blaster rifle on full auto, spraying continuous chains of particle beams. Droids wheeled and dropped and leapt into the air and burst to fragments. Surviving droids opened up on the clones as though grateful for something to shoot at, blasting holes in armor, cooking flesh with superheated steam from deep-tissue hits, blowing some troopers entirely off their cables to tumble toward a messy final landing ten levels below.

When the survivors of the first wave of clones hit the deck, the next wave was right behind them.

Grievous turned back to Obi-Wan. He lowered his head like an angry bantha, yellow glare fixed on the Jedi Master. "To the death, then."

Obi-Wan sighed. "If you insist."

The bio-droid general cast back his cloak, revealing the four lightsabers pocketed there. He stepped back, spreading wide his duranium arms. "You will not be the first Jedi I have killed, nor will you be the last."

Obi-Wan's only reply was to subtly shift the angle of his lightsaber up and forward.

The general's wide-spread arms now _split_ along their lengths, dividing in half—even his _hands_ split in half—

Now he had _four_ arms. And four hands.

And each hand took a lightsaber as his cloak dropped to the floor.

They snarled to life and Grievous spun all four of them in a flourishing velocity so fast and so seamlessly integrated that he seemed to stand within a pulsing sphere of blue and green energy.

"Come on, then, Kenobi! Come for me!" he said. "I have been trained in your Jedi arts by Lord Tyranus himself!"

"Do you mean Count Dooku? What a curious coincidence," Obi-Wan said with a deceptively pleasant smile. "I trained the man who helped kill him."

With a convulsive snarl, Grievous lunged.

The sphere of blue lightsaber energy around him bulged toward Obi0Wan and opened like a mouth to bit him in half. Obi-Wan stood his ground, his blade still.

Chain-lightning teeth closed upon him.

* * *

_The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins._

_It always wins because it is everywhere._

_It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and in the kettle on the fire; it is under your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the midday sun and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet._

_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow._

* * *

The sun had risen over the horizon, and its warm rays started to shine onto the beautiful, lush green hills and meadows. Birds were singing, insects humming, and there was a slight whisper of wind through the trees.

A boy lay at the foot of a large oak, seemingly resting. In all actuality, however, he was simply meditating. He wore robes of fine, black silk, and a brown tunic underneath. He wore boots made of a tough leather-like substance, and his pants were loose and comfortable. A strange metal electrical device laid connected to his belt, resting on his side. His long, black hair framed his face perfectly, and was gently being blown in the wind. Several scars were visible on his human, pale face. The most interesting one, however, was in an odd lightning shape, laying on his forehead.

Slowly, opening his eyes and stretching, the boy yawned. Sitting up, he gazed with sleepy emerald-green eyes at his surroundings. Laying back down again, he just stared up at the blue sky, watching clouds as they passed by.

"Revan! Where are you?" a voice called out to him.

The boy, now identified as Revan, groaned. Calling back with a loud voice, he said, "I'm over here, Alek."

A teenage human boy, with short, black hair that stuck up in places, and blue eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, ran up over the grassy hill, and down to the small meadow where Revan was sitting.

Revan glanced up at him, and smiled at his best friend.

Alek "Squint" Squinquargesimus was wearing a black, leather tunic, with black, tight fitting pants, and a black leather belt, on which his lightsaber was clipped to. His boots were seemingly made out of similar material. His lightsaber had an interesting bronze metallic surface on the shaft, and on each end, there was a steel-like metal which gave the lightsaber a smooth, cool to the touch feel.

"There you are, Revan! Master Kreia was looking for you! She wants to continue your training," Alek said in a hurried rush. Bending over panting, hands on his knees, he continued. "She said that if you want to ever become a Jedi Knight, you have to learn how to be a good leader. And through doing that, you have to have a good grasp on languages."

Revan just stared and him, and then after a moment, sighed. "Alright, Squint. I'll be there in a little bit."

Alek opened his squared jaw to speak, but then decided to just do as Revan had asked. He turned around, and started walking slowly back to the Jedi Enclave, but then stopped, looked back at Revan, and said, "I can only guarantee you 5 minutes at the most."

Revan chuckled, and called out to Alek, "Thanks, Squint, I owe you one."

Alek nodded, then walked over the hill again.

Revan sank back into the tree, still sitting. Gazing up at the birds overhead that were resting in the tree, he smiled, thinking about his own bird, his ever-faithful Phoenix, Hedwig. How he longed to hear her beautiful soft Phoenix song once more. Revan, or rather, Harry, sat there immersed in his own memories.

"REVAN!" a woman's voice screeched out into the warm, summer air.

"Coming, Master!" Revan called back, and got up, brushing himself off, and wiped the stray grass blades that had gotten into his hair. Smiling once more, he walked up the hill, and down towards the large, spacious, and ancient temple called the Jedi Enclave.

The Jedi Enclave, also known as the Jedi Academy of Dantooine, was a secret Jedi training center. Located near an ancient grove, and the ancient Rakatan ruins, the Enclave acted first and foremost as a Jedi academy, overseen by the Dantooine Jedi Council. It was a place of Jedi training and refuge.

The complex was fully equipped as a Jedi base and refuge. The ground level housed a Council chamber, sparring rooms and dormitories, while the sublevel consisted of common rooms, classrooms, and a medical bay, as well as a Jedi archive accessible only by Jedi Masters. The enclave also contained an activity room for the younger members of the Jedi Order. Outside of the Enclave was a Courtyard that led to the plains of Dantooine.

At the center of the ground level was a circular open-air room with some trees at the center of a round walkway. This room connected the landing pad to the dormitories and the training room. There were three dormitory rooms, each with a single bed. These rooms were open to local residents who were in need of refuge. The training room was a rectangular area where Jedi could practice their sparring, and there was a workbench here as well.

The Sublevel was located beneath the main floor of the ******Jedi Enclave** on Dantooine. It housed the enclave's classrooms and Jedi archives. At the entrance of the sublevel was a large atrium, a round room with a skylight and a garden in the center. There was running water in this room and a single bench in the middle, creating a serene atmosphere perfect for meditation.

Down the hall from the garden was a round room with a few dozen seats arranged in a circle around a holoprojector. Presumably this was a meeting room. On the other side of the sublevel was a medical bay with eight beds.

Scattered about the sublevel were several common rooms. The common rooms were large t-shaped rooms, furnished with a few benches and nothing more. There were also two large round classrooms and a room with training terminals. One of the common rooms led to a storage area, and another led to a droid bay. The enclave's power was controlled from the sublevel as well.

At the back of the sublevel (opposite the entrance) was the library, which was only accessible by Jedi Masters. This library was quite modest compared to the library on Coruscant, but it had two levels of archives and several computer stations. The library was a large, roundish room, two stories high, and there was a statue of a Jedi in the center.

As Revan made his way to the sublevel, he whistled a jingle he had heard on an Earth commercial long ago. Reflecting back, sometimes he wished that he had told the Voice he had wanted the life back on Earth with his family and friends still around him.

The Voice had tricked him, he used to think, because not only did it send him over 4,000 years into the past, it also de-aged him by 8 or 9 years, give or take a few months. For the past 5 years, he had been training as a Padawan of the Jedi Master Kreia, learning things he never thought were possible.

_Master Yoda never taught me any of the stuff I've learned here during our time together…_

Harry had begun his training as a spunky 8 year old with a 23 year old mind. Slowly, he began to have his mental barriers that he had set up for certain things break down. He no longer cared about calling someone Master, because it was just a title of respect and honor. Now, (again) at the ripe age of 17, he was proficient in more than just magic and the lightsaber. He had even built a new one, since his old black lightsaber had been lost somehow with all of the time travelling.

His thirst for knowledge about the Force was astonishing. _'If only Hermione could see me now…'_

Revan laughed inwardly. Hermione would throw a fit if she saw him. Harry had totally changed. No more was the small, scared little boy who had taped glasses and loose, baggy clothing. No more was the shy and frightened boy who loved magic but hated homework.

In his place, was a bright, tall, and cheerful young man, who loved life—hell, he had even changed his name for Merlin's sake—and enjoyed a good fight. And he was pretty sure that as soon as he stepped into the large courtyard, he was about to get one.

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the large doors leading to the courtyard, he ducked. Just in time, it appeared, for as no sooner had he ducked, had Master Kreia swung her green lightsaber hard and fast where his head had been.

Igniting his blue lightsaber as well, he Force jumped away from her, and then rushed towards her, seemingly about to attack with his lightsaber when he suddenly changed actions, and stop, outstretching his hand, and pushed her backwards with the Force.

Grumbling as she got up, Master Kreia swore under her breath in several different languages, while Revan chuckled.

Master Kreia was an older woman with long grey, whitening hair. She split her hair up into two ponytails in the front, with each side pushed through three bracelets (three on each side, making up a total of six). Her white, atrophied eyes hidden beneath her cloak, squinting at him in anger. Slowly, she started breathing slower, and calmed down.

Revan, now knowing he was safe from having bodily harm be done to him at this point in time, let out a sigh of relief and sank down onto one of the stone benches there in the courtyard. Still swearing under her breath, she stood up from her sitting position, and smiled in a dangerous way, and Revan knew he was in for it this time.

"Revan, today, I was going to accompany you to the Archives, so you could study more about the Force, as I know you have a great interest in learning more and more about it. However… since you decided to make me wait for you, I have to punish you somehow…" Kreia trailed off, grinning like she knew something important that Revan didn't.

"But Master! I was resting, like you told me to, out in the fields!" Revan tried to counter, but stopped when Kreia put up her hand to silence him.

"It doesn't matter to me _why_ you were late, I just care about the fact that you _were_. Therefore, today's lesson will not be on lightsaber tactics, not on how to use the Force, not even on history. No, today, we begin on a new language. You are already proficient in that blasted Snake language of yours, Basic, Binary, Mando'a, Rakatan, and Selkath. Today, we are going to begin on Shryiiwook, which is the language of the Wookiees. Luckily for you, I have brought in a real Wookie, and he will help guide you throughout the course of these lessons. Any questions? I didn't think so."

In the doorway, stood a tall, hairy Wookie. It stared straight at Revan, gave him a small, devilish smile, and gave out a small Wookiee call.

_Oh boy…_

* * *

There is an understated elegance in Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber technique, one that is quite unlike the feel one might get from the other great swords-beings of the Jedi Order. He lacks entirely the flash, the pure bold _élan_ of an Anakin Skywalker; there is nowhere in him the penumbral ferocity of a Mace Windu or a Depa Billaba nor the stylish grace of a Shaak Ti or a Dooku, and he is nothing resembling the whirlwind of destruction that Yoda can become.

He is simplicity itself.

That is his power.

Before Obi-Wan had left Coruscant, Mace Windu had told him of facing Grievous in single combat atop a mag-lev train during the general's daring raid to capture Palpatine. Mace had told him how the computers slaved to Grievous's brain had apparently analyzed even Mace's unconventionally lethal Vaapad and had been able to respond in kind after a single exchange.

"He must have been trained by Count Dooku," Mace had said, "so you can expect Makashi as well; given the number of Jedi he has fought and slain, you must expect that he can attack in any style, or all of them. In fact, Obi-Wan, I believe that of all living Jedi, you have the best chance to defeat him."

This pronouncement had startled Obi-Wan, and he had protested. After all, the only form in which he was truly even proficient was Soresu, which was the most common lightsaber form in the Jedi Order. Founded upon the basic deflection principles all Padawans were taught—to enable them to protect themselves from blaster bolts—Soresu was very simple, and so restrained and defense-oriented that it was very nearly downright passive.

"But surely, Master Windu," Obi-Wan had said, "you, with the power of Vaapad—or Yoda's mastery of Ataro—"

Mace Windu had almost smiled. "I created Vaapad to answer my weakness: it channels my own darkness into a weapon of the light. Master Yoda's Ataro is also an answer to weakness: the limitations 

of reach and mobility imposed by his stature and his age. But for you? What weakness does Soresu answer?"

Blinking, Obi-Wan had been forced to admit he'd never actually thought of it that way.

"That is so like you, Master Kenobi," the Korun Master had said, shaking his head. "I am called a great swordsman because I invented a lethal style; but who is greater, the creator of a killing form—or the master of the classic form?"

"I'm very flattered that you would consider me a master, but really—"

"Not a master. _The_ master," Mace had said. "Be who you are, and Grievous will never defeat you."

So now, facing the tornado of annihilating energy that is Grievous's attack, Obi-Wan simply is who he is.

* * *

General Grievous was very good at running away.

"Not this time," Obi-Wan muttered, and cut a path through the tangled mob of droids all the way to the arch in a single sustained surge, reaching the open air just in time to see the blade-wheeler turn; it was an open ring with a pilot's chair inside, and in the pilot's chair sat Grievous, who lifted one of his bodyguards' electrostaffs in a sardonic wave as he took the scooter straight out over the edge. Four claw-footed arms deployed, digging into the rock to carry him down the side of the sinkhole, angling away at a steep slant.

"Blast." Obi-Wan looked around. Still no air taxis. Not that he had any real interest in flying through the storm of battle that raged throughout the interior of the sinkhole, but there were certainly no way he could catch Grievous on foot…

From around the corner of an interior tunnel, he heard a resonant _honnnnk!_ as though a nearby bantha had swallowed an air horn.

He said, "Boga?"

The beaked face of the dragonmount slowly extended around the interior angle of the tunnel.

"Boga! Come here, girl! We have a general to catch."

Boga fixed him with a reproachful glare. "_Honnnnnk._"

"Oh, very well." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I was wrong; you were right. Can we please _go_ now?"

The remaining fifteen meters of dragonmount hove into view and came trotting out to meet him. Obi-Wan sprang to the saddle, and Boga leapt to the sinkhole's rim in a single bound. Her huge head swung low, searching, until Obi-Wan spotted Grievous's blade-wheeler racing away toward the landing decks below.

"_There_, girl—that's him! Go!"

Boga gathered herself and sprang to the rim of the next level down, poised for an instant to get her bearings, then leapt again down into the firestorm that Pau City had become. Obi-Wan spun his blade in a continuous whirl to either side of the dragonmount's back, disintegrating shrapnel and slapping away stray blaster fire. They plummeted through the sinkhole-city, gaining tens of meters on Grievous with every leap.

On one of the landing decks, the canopy was lifting and parting to show a small, ultrafast armored shuttle of the type favored by the famously nervous Neimoidian executives of the Trade Federation. Grievous's wheeler sprayed a fan of white-hot sparks as it tore across the landing deck; the bio-droid whipped the wheeler sideways, laying it down for a skidding halt that showered the shuttle with molten durasteel.

But before he could clamber out of the pilot's chair, several metric tons of Jedi-bearing dragonmount landed on the shuttles roof, crouched and threatening and hissing venomously down at him.

"I hope you have another vehicle, General!" Obi-Wan waved his lightsaber toward the shuttle's twin rear thrusters. "I believe there's some damage to your sublights!"

"You're insane! There's no—"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Show him, Boga."

The dragonmount dutifully pointed out the damage with two whistling strikes of her massive tale-mace—_wham _and _wham_ again—which crumpled the shuttle's thruster tubes into crimped-shut knots of metal.

Obi-Wan beckoned. "Let's settle this, shall we?"

Grievous's answer was a shriek of tortured gyros that wrenched the wheeler upright, and a metal-on-metal scream of blades ripping into deck plates that sent it shooting straight toward the sinkhole wall—and, with the claw-arms to help, straight _up_ it.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Didn't we just _come_ from there?"

Boga coiled herself and sprang for the wall, and the chase was on once more.

They raced through the battle, clawing up walls, shooting through tunnels, skidding and leaping, sprinting where the way was clear and screeching into high-powered serpentines where it was not, whipping around knots of droids and bounding over troopers. Boga ran straight up the side of a clone hovertank and sprang from its turret directly between the high-slanting ringwheels of a hailfire, and a swipe of Obi-Wan's lightsaber caught and returned blaster bolts in a spray that shattered any droid unwise enough to fire on them. A few stray bolts he batted into the speeding wheeler ahead, but without visible effect.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's try this from a little _closer_."

Boga gained steadily. Grievous's vehicle had the edge in raw speed, but Boga could out-turn it and could make instant leaps at astonishing angles; the dragonmount also had an uncanny instinct for where the general might be heading, as well as a seemingly infinite knowledge of useful shortcuts through side tunnels, along sheer walls, and over chasms studded with locked-down wind turbines. Grievous tried once to block Obi-Wan's pursuit by screeching out onto a huge pod that held a whole bank of wind turbines and knocking the blade-brakes off them with quick blows of the electrostaffs, letting the razor-edged blades spin freely in the constant gale, but Obi-Wan merely brought Boga alongside the turbines and stuck his lightsaber into their whirl. Sliced-free chunks of carboceramic blade shrieked through the air and shattered on the stone on all sides, and with a curse Grievous kicked his vehicle into motion again.

The wheeler roared into a tunnel that seemed to lead straight into the rock of the plateau. The tunnel was jammed with ground-cars and dragonmounts and wheelers and jesters and all manner of other vehicles and every kind of beast that might bear or draw the vast numbers of Utapauns and Utai fleeing the battle. Grievous blasted right into them, blade-wheel chewing through ground-cars and splashing the tunnel walls with chunks of shredded lizard; Boga raced along the walls above the traffic, sometimes even galloping on the ceiling with claws gouging chunks from the rock.

With a burst of sustained effort that strangled her _honnnnk_ing to thin gasps for air, Boga finally pulled alongside Grievous. Obi-Wan leaned forward, stretching out with his lightsaber, barely able to reach the wheeler's back curve, and carved away an arc of the wheeler's blade-tread, making the vehicle buck and skid; Grievous answered with a thrust of his electrostaffs that crackled lightning against Boga's extended neck. The great beast jerked sideways, honking fearfully and whipping her head as though the burn was a biting creature she could shake off her flank.

"One more leap, Boga!" Obi-Wan shouted, pressing himself along the dragonmount's shoulder. "Bring me even with him!"

The dragonmount complied without hesitation, and when Grievous thrust again, Obi-Wan's free hand flashed out and seized the staff below its discharge blade, holding it clear of Boga's vulnerable flesh. Grievous yanked on the staff, nearly pulling Obi-Wan out of the saddle, then jabbed it back at him, discharge blade sparking in his face—

With a sigh, Obi-Wan realized he needed both hands.

He dropped his lightsaber.

As his deactivated handgrip skittered and bounced along the tunnel behind him, he reflected that it was just as well Anakin wasn't there after all; he'd have never heard the end of it.

He got his other hand on the staff just as Grievous jerked the wheeler sideways, half laying it down to angle for a small side tunnel just ahead. Obi-Wan hung on grimly. Through the Force he could feel Boga's exhaustion, the buildup of anaerobic breakdown products turning the dragonmount's might legs to cloth. An open archway showed daylight ahead. Boga barely made the turn, and they raced side by side along the empty darkened way, joined by the spark-spitting rod of the electrostaffs.

As they cleared the archway to a small, concealed landing deck deep in a private sinkhole, Obi-Wan leapt from the saddle, yanking on the staff to swing both his boots hard into the side of Grievous's duranium skull. The wheeler's internal gyros screamed at the sudden impact and shift of balance. Their shrieks cycled up to bursts of smoke and fragments of metal as their catastrophic failure sent the wheeler tumbling in a white-hot cascade of sparks.

Dropping the staff, Obi-Wan leapt again, the Force lifting him free of the crash.

Grievous's electronic reflexes sent him out of the pilot's chair in the opposite direction.

The wheeler flipped over the edge of the landing deck and into the shadowy abyss of the sinkhole. It trailed smoke all the way down to a distant, delayed, and very final crash.

The electrostaffs had rolled away, coming to rest against the landing jack of a small Techno Union starfighter that stood on the deck a few meters behind Obi-Wan. Behind Grievous, the archway back into the tunnel system was filled with a panting, exhausted, but still dangerously angry dragonmount.

Obi-Wan looked at Grievous.

Grievous looked at Obi-Wan.

There was no longer any need for words between them.

Obi-Wan simply stood, centered in the Force, waiting for Grievous to make his move.

A concealed compartment in the general's right thigh sprang open, and a mechanical arm delivered a slim hold-out blaster to his hand. He brought it up and fired so fast that his arm blurred to invisibility.

Obi-Wan… reached.

The electrostaffs flipped into the air between them, one discharge blade catching the bolt. The impact sent the staff whirling—

Right into Obi-Wan's hand.

There came one instant's pause, while they looked into each other's eyes and shared an intimate understanding that their relationship had reached its end.

Obi-Wan charged.

Grievous backed away, unleashing a stream of blaster bolts as fast as his half a forefinger could pull the trigger.

Obi-Wan spun the staff, catching every bolt, not even slowing down, and when he reached Grievous he slapped the blaster out of his hand with a crack of the staff that sent blue lightning scaling up the general's arm.

His following strike was a stiff stab into Grievous's jointed stomach armor that sent the general staggering back. Obi-Wan hit him again in the same place, denting the armorplast plate, cracking the joint where it met the larger, thicker plates of his chest as Grievous flailed for balance, but when he spun the staff for his next strike the general's flailing arm flailed itself against the middle of the staff and his other hand found it as well and he seized it, yanking himself upright against Obi-Wan's grip, his metal skull-face coming within a centimeter of the Jedi Master's nose.

He snarled, "Do you think I am foolish enough to arm my bodyguards with weapons that can actually _hurt_ me?"

Instead of waiting for an answer he spun, heaving Obi-Wan right off the deck with killing power; Obi-Wan could only let go of the staff and allow the Force to angle his fall into a stumbling roll. Grievous sprang after him, swinging the electrostaffs and slamming it across Obi-Wan's flank before the Jedi Master could recover his balance. The impact sent Obi-Wan tumbling sideways and the electroburst discharge set his robe on fire. Grievous stayed right with him, attacking before Obi-Wan could even realize exactly what was happening, attacking faster than thought—

But Obi-Wan didn't need to think. The Force was with him, and he _knew_.

When Grievous spun the staff overhand, discharge blade sizzling down at Obi-Wan's head for the killing blow, Obi-Wan went to the inside.

He met Grievous chest-to-chest, his upraised hand blocking the general's wrist; Grievous snarled something incoherent and bore down on the Jedi Master's block with all his weight, driving the blade closer and closer to Obi-Wan's face—

But Obi-Wan's arm had the Force to give it strength, and the general's arm only had the innate crystalline intermolecular structure of duranium alloy.

Grievous's forearm bent like a cheap spoon.

While the general stared in disbelief at his mangled arm, Obi-Wan had been working the fingers of his free hand around the lower edge of Grievous's dented, join-loose stomach plate.

Grievous looked down. "What?"

Obi-Wan slammed the elbow of his blocking arm into the general's clavicle while he yanked as hard as he could on the stomach plate, and it ripped free in his hand. Behind it hung a translucent sac of synthskin containing a tangle of green and gray organs.

The true body of the alien inside the droid.

Grievous howled and dropped the staff to seize Obi-Wan with his three remaining arms. He lifted the Jedi Master over his head again and hurled him tumbling over the landing deck toward the precipice above the gloom-shrouded drop. Reaching into the Force, Obi-Wan was able to connect with the stone itself as if he were anchored to it with a cable tether; instead of hurtling over the edge he slammed down onto the rock hard enough to crush all breath from his lungs.

Grievous picked up the staff again and charged.

Obi-Wan still couldn't breathe. He had no hope of rising to meet the general's attack.

All he could do was extend a hand.

As the bio-droid loomed over him, electrostaffs raised for the kill, the hold-out blaster flipped from the deck into Obi-Wan's palm, and with no hesitation, no second thoughts, not even the faintest pause to savor his victory, he pulled the trigger.

The bolt ripped into the synthskin sac.

Grievous's guts exploded in a foul-smelling shower the color of a dead swamp. Energy chained up his spine and a mist of vaporized brain burst out both sides of his skull and sent his face spinning off the precipice.

The electrostaffs hit the deck, followed shortly by the general's knees.

Then by what was left of his head.

Obi-Wan lay on his back, staring at the circle of cloudless sky above the sinkhole while he gasped air back into his spasming lungs. He barely managed to roll over far enough to smother the flames on his robe, then fell back.

And simply enjoyed being alive.

Much too short a time later—long before he was actually ready to get up—a shadow fell across him, accompanied by the smell of overheated lizard and an admonitory _honnnk_.

"Yes, Boga, you're right," Obi-Wan agreed reluctantly. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet.

He picked up the electrostaffs, and paused for one last glance at the remains of the bio-droid general.

"So…" He summoned a condemnation among the most offensive in his vocabulary. "…_uncivilized_."

He triggered his comlink, and directed Cody to report to Jedi Command on Coruscant that Grievous had been destroyed.

"_Will do, General,_" said the tiny holoscan of the clone commander. "_And congratulations. I knew you could do it._"

_Apparently everyone did,_ Obi-Wan thought, _except Grievous, and me…_

"_General? We do still have a little problem out here. About ten thousand heavily armed little problems, actually._"

"On my way. Kenobi out."

Obi-Wan sighed and clambered painfully onto the dragonmount's saddle.

"All right, girl," he said. "Let's go win _that_ battle, too."

* * *

As has been said, the textbook example of a Jedi trap is the one that was set on Utapau, for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It worked perfectly.

The final element essential to the creation of a truly effective Jedi trap is a certain coldness of mind—a detachment, if you will, from any desire for a particular outcome.

The best way to arrange matters is to create a win-win situation.

For example, one might use as one's proxy a creature that not only is expendable, but would eventually have to be killed anyway. Thus, if one's proxy fails and is destroyed, it's no loss—in fact, the targeted Jedi has actually done one a favor, by taking care of a bit of dirty work one would otherwise have to do oneself.

And the final stroke of perfection is to organize the Jedi trap so that by walking into it at all, the Jedi has already lost.

That is to say, a Jedi trap works best when one's true goal is merely to make sure that the Jedi in question spends some hours or days off somewhere on the far side of the galaxy. So that he won't be around to interfere with one's _real_ plans.

So that by the time he can return, it will be already too late.

* * *

Mace Windu stood in the darkened comm center of Jedi Command, facing a life-sized holoscan of Yoda, projected from a concealed Wookiee comm. Center in the heart of a wroshyr tree on Kashyyyk.

"Minutes ago," Mace said, "we received confirmation from Utapau: Kenobi was successful. Grievous is dead."

"_Time it is to execute our plan._"

"I will personally deliver the news of Grievous's death."

Mace flexed his hands. "It will be up to the Chancellor to cede his emergency powers back over to the Senate."

"_Forget not the existence of Sidious. Anticipate your action, he may. Masters will be necessary, if the Lord of the Sith you must face._"

"I have chosen four of our best. Master Tiin, Master Kolar, and Master Firsto are all here, in the Temple. They are preparing already."

"_What about Skywalker? The chosen one._"

"Too much of a risk," Mace replied. "I am the fourth."

With a slow purse of the lips and an even slower nod, Yoda said, "_On watch you have been too long, my Padawan. Rest you must._"

"I will, Master. When the Republic is safe once more." Mace straightened. "We are waiting only for your vote."

"_Very well, then. Have my vote, you do. May the Force be with you._"

"And with you, Master."

But he spoke to empty air; the holoscan had already flickered to nonexistence.

Mace lowered his head and stood in the darkness and the silence.

The door of the comm center shot open, spilling yellow glare into the gloom and limning the silhouette of a man half collapsed against the frame.

"Master…" The voice was a hoarse half whisper. "Master Windu…?"

"Skywalker?" Mace was at his side in an instant. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Anakin took Mace's arm in a grip of desperate strength, and used it like a crutch to haul himself upright.

"Obi-Wan…," he said faintly. "I need to talk to _Obi-Wan—!"_

"Obi-Wan is operational on Utapau; he has destroyed General Grievous. We are leaving now to tell the Chancellor, and to see to it that he steps down as he has promised—"

"Steps—steps _down_—" Anakin's voice had a bitter edge. "You have no _idea_…"

"Anakin—? What's wrong?"

"Listen to me—_you have to listen to me—_" Anakin sagged against him, shaking; Mace wrapped his arms around the young Jedi and guided him into the nearest chair. "You can't—please, Master Windu, give me your word, promise me it'll be an _arrest_, promise you're not going to _hurt_ him—"

"Skywalker—Anakin. You must try to answer. Have you been attacked? Are you injured? You have to tell me what's wrong!"

Anakin collapsed forward, face into his hands.

Mace reached into the Force, opening the eye of his special gift of perception—

What he found there froze his blood.

The tangled web of fault lines in the Force he had seen connecting Anakin to Obi-Wan and to Palpatine was no more; in their place was a single spider-knot that sang with power enough to crack the planet. Anakin Skywalker no longer had shatterpoints. He _was_ a shatterpoint.

_The_ shatterpoint.

Everything depended on him.

_Everything._

Mace said slowly, with the same sort of deliberate care he would use in examining an unknown type of bomb that might have the power to destroy the universe itself, "Anakin, look at me."

Skywalker raised his head.

"Are you hurt? Do you need—"

Mace frowned. Anakin's eyes were raw, and red, and his face looked swollen. For a long time he didn't know if Anakin would answer, if he _could_ answer, if he could even speak at all; the young Jedi seemed to be struggling with something inside himself, as though he fought desperately against the birth of a monster hatching within his chest.

But in the Force, there was no _as though_; there was no _seemed to be_. In the Force, Mace could feel the monster inside Anakin Skywalker, a _real_ monster, _too_ real, one that was eating him alive from the inside out.

Fear.

This was the wound Anakin had taken. This was the hurt that had him shaking and stammering and too weak to stand. Some black fear had hatched like fever wasps inside the young Knight's brain, and it was killing him.

Finally, after what seemed forever, Anakin opened his blood-raw eyes.

"Master Windu…" He spoke slowly, painfully, as though each word ripped away a raw hunk of his own flesh. "I have… bad news."

Mace stared at him.

"Bad news?" he repeated blankly.

What news could be bad enough to make a Jedi like Anakin Skywalker collapse? What _news_ could make Anakin Skywalker look like the stars had gone out?

Then in nine simple words, Anakin told him.

* * *

Kreia gazed softly on her Padawan learner, and smiled to herself. _'That boy will be someone great someday. I remember when I first found him, here on Dantooine…'_

* * *

_Flashback_

_Kreia awoke in her chambers, and felt something arriving in the Force. Something new, and something potentially powerful. Quickly getting dressed, she swiftly started running towards the source. Exiting the Jedi Enclave, she made her way out into the Plains of Dantooine, and stopped, not feeling it anymore. Slowly, she started to turn back towards the enclave, and she started walking through the plains, thoroughly disappointed._

_Suddenly, there was a bright flash of white light behind her, and she heard a muffled "__**Oomph**__" from what sounded like a young boy's mouth. Shifting her weight around, and quickly igniting her green lightsaber, she took a battle stance._

_The only thing left after the bright light was the boy laying facedown, whose breathing was light, and quick. Knowing that if she didn't do something quick, he could very likely die, she applied some of her Force healing techniques that she had learned. Slowly but surely, the boy's breathing slowed, and he seemed more at ease._

_She heard a rustling sound to her left, and she quickly stood up, and ignited her lightsaber once more. The source of the sound turned out to be nothing more than some field mice, and she sighed in relief. She turned her lightsaber off and clipped it to her belt once more. Then, gently picking the boy up, she carried him back to the Jedi Enclave, where she kept him in her quarters until the next day._

_The sun had risen the next day, and the boy awoke with a start._

_Kreia, sensing his consciousness, arose from her meditation, and spoke in soft words to him._

"_You, boy, what is your name?"_

_The boy looked up at her in amazement, then said, "I'm Ha…" and trailed off. Obviously, he hadn't wanted to reveal his true name, because no more than 5 seconds had passed when he had given the name of "Revan"._

"_Well, which is it, 'Ha', or 'Revan'?" Kreia asked in amusement, staring at him with unnerving, unblinking white eyes._

"_Revan, ma'am, it's Revan." The boy looked down at his feet, which were dangling off the side of his bed._

"_Well then, Revan, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kreia, and I am a Jedi Master here at the Jedi Enclave."_

_The boy gaped at her. He whispered something that she couldn't hear, and then said in a small voice, as he gazed out of her window, "What planet am I on?"_

_Kreia gaped at him as well, but then merely shrugged it off as a slight amnesia, from the obvious near-death experience he had. "Well, Revan, do you know what a Jedi is?" Kreia said warmly, trying to comfort the child who looked a little uncomfortable._

_Revan looked at her slightly dazed, and said in an even smaller voice, "Just a little bit, but not really enough to know what they really are."_

_Kreia smiled even more warmly at that. "Come on, let me take you to the medical bay, and check you out for any injuries."_

_Revan was looked a little unsure, but followed her anyway. "Can I be a Jedi too?" he asked in an innocent, child-like way._

"_Well… we'll just have to see about that, Revan." Kreia then smiled, and ruffled his hair a little bit, and took his hand, leading him to the medical bay._

_While Revan was sitting on the cool, metal table answering questions about how he was feeling by one of the Jedi Healers, Kreia pulled another one aside, and asked for a blood test to count the midi-chlorians in his blood._

_Sure enough, when the test results came to her a little while later, she was astounded._

'_**50,000 midi-chlorians… that's enough to keep one alive for well over 300 years! And he's only a human!'**_

_Shaking her head, she glanced at the giggling 8 year old. "It really is hard to believe…" she muttered to herself._

_Shaking herself out of her stupor, she decided that it was time for them to go see the Jedi Council. She __**needed**__ to have this boy as her Padawan… otherwise… who knew what could happen._

"_Come along, Revan, we're gonna go see the members of the Jedi Council. Do you know who they are?"_

_Revan seemed to think long and hard about it, then replied as only an eight year old could. "Some really weird old guys in dresses?"_

_Kreia could only laugh, and Revan seemed to giggle a little bit too. "Revan, they're the wisest and most powerful Jedi here on Dantooine. If you really want to be a Jedi, we have to see them first."_

_Revan seemed to think long and hard about it, then said happily, "Okay!"_

_A little while later, Kreia and Revan were standing in front of the Dantooine Jedi Council, and Kreia was explaining the circumstances of Revan's arrival._

"…_so I carried him back to my quarters and let him rest there for the night. When he awoke this morning, he was so confused… I took him to the medical bay to see if he had any potential to be a Jedi, because I _

_had a feeling that he must be a Force-sensitive, after that bright white light was any indication…" Kreia was explaining._

_Revan's attentions seemed to zoom in and out. He hardly seemed to be paying attention._

"…_and that is why I would like to take Revan here as my Padawan."_

_Revan looked up sharply, with intelligent eyes, then took on his persona of an innocent child again, that no one noticed the change at all._

_The Jedi Council murmured to each other, and finally, one of the Council members spoke up._

"_Master Kreia, we shall test him, and if, and __**only**__ if, we find him worthy, he shall be your Padawan learner." The Master deliberated. "Now if you would please, Kreia, leave us alone with Revan for a short while."_

_Revan looked up at her with scared eyes, but she kneeled down near him, and looked directly at him. "All you have to do is answer a few questions, and answer them as best as you can. I believe in you, Revan."_

_Revan nodded, and swallowed. Kreia, satisfied, got up, nodded to the Council, and left the Council chamber._

_Kreia paced back and forth outside, worrying about the results. '__**Calm yourself down, Kreia! Get a hold of yourself!**__'_

_She stopped pacing, sat down near the Council door, and meditated._

_Soon, the Council door opened, and she was welcomed back inside the Council chamber._

"_Well," one of the Masters started, a little hesitantly, "He is brighter than we had imagined, and has a deep understanding of the Force that many have been trying to learn for years and haven't succeeded with. However, he still has much to learn. And that is why, Master Kreia, we have decided…" here she paused. "We have decided that we will allow you to take on young Revan as your Padawan learner," she finished smiling._

_Revan's face lit up, and grinned a large, infectious smile._

"_Revan, meet your new Master, Master Kreia. Kreia, Revan."_

_End Flashback_

* * *

As Revan had grown over the years, Kreia had kept a watchful eye over him. Soon, she felt, she would have nothing more to teach him. And if that point in time ever came, then she knew that he would move on to other Masters, to learn their teachings as well. However, she knew that no matter what, the bond that she and Revan had would never be broken.

She would make sure of it.

* * *

A/N: So here is the very first chapter of the sequel! So hopefully, this chapter has been detail-filled enough for you! Anyways, read and review, I'd greatly appreciate how you like my work! Thanks a million!

Beggs


	2. Anakin's Decision

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks to my reviewers, I greatly appreciated it! I would like to make clear that Harry is Revan and Revan is Harry, just incase someone didn't catch that. It's gonna be super difficult typing "My name is Revan," said Harry, or having it be like "REVAN!" Harry glanced up at the use of his name.

It would be really awkward. So it's gonna be Revan for QUITE a while, I apologize. However, I intend to make this story amazing, so please stick with it!

Another important note, its not 40 years into the past, its 4000. Sorry for that misunderstanding, Anakin and Harry are 4,000 years apart.

Enjoy!

* * *

_As Revan had grown over the years, Kreia had kept a watchful eye over him. Soon, she felt, she would have nothing more to teach him. And if that point in time ever came, then she knew that he would move on to other Masters, to learn their teachings as well. However, she knew that no matter what, the bond that she and Revan had would never be broken._

_She would make sure of it._

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

**Anakin's Decision**

* * *

Kreia knew that this time would eventually come. She had taught Revan everything she knew, and she felt it was time for him to move on in the world, and become a great Jedi Knight, and eventually Master.

Sighing, she stood from her meditating position on the floor, and walked silently to Revan's quarters.

Knocking softly, she entered inside. The room was extremely messy, clothes strewn everywhere, bed un-made, random mechanical objects thrown here and there, and there were scorch marks all over the walls. '_Curious, what has my Padawan been doing to destroy his normally perfectly clean room?'_

Looking around, and not sensing his Force signature anywhere in the room, she left again, following his Force trail.

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, she found him outside under his favorite Oak tree in the plains, and she smiled to herself. '_Should have known…'_

"Revan, wake up. This is a matter of great importance," she said, the strain in her voice evident.

Revan woke up, blinking, and gazed up at her, before sitting upright against the tree, and smiled at her. "Yes, Master Kreia, what is it?"

"Revan… You have been a good Padawan learner. The best anyone could have asked for. You have a strong sense of self, and you know when to pick a fight, and when not to. Therefore… I feel it is time for your Jedi Trials, to test you as a Jedi Knight."

Revan gaped at her, not quite comprehending fully what she was saying. "Are you… are you _saying_… you think I'm ready to be a full-fledged Jedi now?"

Kreia gave him a soft, sad smile. "That's right Revan, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Revan stood up slowly, looking at his feet, then looking back up at her. Then he ran into her, giving her a full fledged hug.

Kreia was shocked for a moment, but then gave him one in return. She whispered to him, "I know you're going to be great, one day. My Force Vision has foretold it."

And with that, she released him, and walked away back towards the Jedi Enclave, up the grassy hill, and out of Revan's sight.

Revan gazed on at the spot where she had left his vision, and mulled over her words.

"_I know you're going to be great, one day. My Force Vision has foretold it."_

Then, uninvited, a voice from his buried past arose in his mind as well.

"_I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great…"_

Shaking himself out of his little stupor, Revan walked away from his spot near the Oak tree. Uncovering the small hole he had covered with a large rock, on the grassy hill, inside lay a long, bendable piece of wood. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Revan picked it up, covered the hole again, and whispered, "_Avis_._"_

Watching as birds flew out of the tip of the piece of wood, he smiled, and pocketed his wand that he had created out of Holly and the hair of a beautiful girl he had met when he had first arrived.

_What was her name? Basta... Basha? No... that's not right..._

Harry thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers, with the air of an inventor.

_Bastila Shan!_

It was a long shot, using the hair of a beautiful human Jedi girl, but the wand was actually of really good quality. It suited Revan perfectly.

Walking back over the hill, he stopped, gazed one last time over to his beloved Oak tree, and went right into the Jedi Enclave, back to the Jedi Council room, where, he knew he was expected.

* * *

This is the moment that defines Mace Windu.

Not his countless victories in battle, nor the numberless battles his diplomacy has avoided. Not his penetrating intellect, or his talents with the Force, or his unmatched skills with the lightsaber. Not his dedication to the Jedi Order, or his devotion to the Republic that he serves.

But this.

Right here.

Right now.

Because Mace, too, has an _attachment_. Mace has a secret love.

Mace Windu loves the Republic.

Many of his students quote him to students of their own: "_Jedi do not fight for peace. That's only a slogan, and is as misleading as slogans always are. Jedi fight for _civilization_, because only civilization _creates_ peace."_

For Mace Windu, for all his life, for all the lives of a thousand years of Jedi before him, true civilization has had only one true name: the Republic.

He has given his life in the service of his love. He has taken lives in its service, and lost the lives of innocents. He has seen beings that he cars for maimed, and killed, and sometimes worse: sometimes so broken by the horror of the struggle that their only answer was to commit horrors greater still.

And because of that love now, here, in this instant, Anakin Sky walker has nine words for him that shred his heart, burn its pieces, and feed him its smoking ashes.

_Palpatine is Sidious. The Chancellor is the Sith Lord_.

He doesn't even hear the words, not really; their true meaning is too large for his mind to gather in all at once.

They mean that all he's done, and all that has been done to him—

That all the Order has accomplished, all it has suffered—

All the Galaxy _itself_ has gone through, all the years of suffering and slaughter, the death of entire _planets_—

Has all been for nothing.

Because it was all done to save the Republic.

Which was already gone.

Which had already fallen.

The corpse of which had been defended only by a Jedi Order that was now under the command of a Dark Lord of the Sith.

Mace Windu's entire existence has become crystal so shot-through with flaws that the hammer of those nine words has crushed him to sand.

But because he is Mace Windu, he takes this blow without a change of expression.

Because he is Mace Windu, within a second the man of sand is stone once more: pure Jedi Master, weighing coldly the risk of facing the last Dark Lord of the Sith without the chosen one—

Against the risk of facing the last Dark Lord of the Sith with a chosen one eaten alive by fear.

And because he is Mace Windu, the choice is no choice at all.

"Anakin, wait in the Council Chamber until we get back."

"Wh—what? Master—"

"That's an _order_, Anakin."

"But—but—but—the _Chancellor_—" Anakin said desperately, clutching at the Jedi Master's hand. "What are you going to _do_?"

And it is the true measure of Mace Windu that, even now, he still is telling the truth when he says, "Only as much as I have to."

* * *

In the virtual nonspace of the HoloNet, two Jedi Masters meet.

One is ancient, tiny, with skin of green leather and old wisdom in his eyes, standing in a Kashyyyk cave hollowed from the trunk of a vast wroshyr tree; the other is tall and fierce, seated before a holodisk in Coruscant's Jedi Temple.

To each other, they are blue ghosts, given existence by scanning lasers. Though they are light-years apart, they are of one mind; it hardly matters who says what.

For more than a decade, the Republic has been in the hands of the Sith.

Now, together, blue ghost to blue ghost, they decide to take it back.

* * *

Revan knelt before the Council, head bowed, awaiting their judgment of his Jedi Trial. Inwardly grinning, he knew that he was going to pass the trial, and become a Jedi Knight.

"Revan, you may stand," one Master said tiredly. "You, Revan, have passed your Jedi Trial. However, we cannot allow you to become a Jedi Knight—"

Here, Revan interrupted. "Excuse me, Master?"

The Master continued as if he had not been interrupted. "—a Jedi Knight, for this simple reasoning—you have the potential to be one of the galaxies finest, and we want to explore that, very thoroughly. As such, you shall be sent to Coruscant, where you shall train under the Jedi Master Zhar Lestin. We have already contacted him, and he has agreed to take you and your fellow Padawan learner Alek Squinquargesimus as his own learners. Both of you can learn a great deal from him."

Revan looked stunned at them, blinking, not knowing quite what to say. He glanced at each of the Jedi Council members' serious faces, and then looked outside. There, he saw a bird's nest, near the window of the Council Chamber. Curiously, he watched, as the mother bird started to push them out of the nest. 

The baby birds, chirping and screeching like mad bantha, tried to push back into the nest. Their mother, however, had different plans.

Finally, one by one, she pushed each of her babies out of the nest. The tiny birds, not knowing what else to do, spread their wings and flapped. Suddenly, they started flying. The birds, noticing this, starting singing with approval, and set off into the sea of grass on the Dantooine plains.

Revan, smiling to himself, then realized what he had to do.

"Masters, when do you wish for me to leave?"

* * *

_Far away, somewhere deep in space…_

A man sat on a throne of gold, planning his next strike on the Republic. He wore a golden mask, with a red visor embedded inside. His body was covered with durasteel plates, serving as a kind of body armor, with a blood-red cape that wrapped around his torso down to his legs; tattered and torn at the edges on the bottom. Long, metal tubes ran from his mask to his body gear on his back, connected to a life support box that allowed him to breathe in oxygen from a planet, without having to worry about any possible poisonous effects. In simplistic terms, it purified the air for this human man to breathe. However, this man considered himself to be _more_ than human. In his own eyes, he was a _God_.

Mandalore the Ultimate.

Really was.

Ultimate.

He had conquered many planets in the galaxy, and the poor, _poor_ Republic could do _nothing_ to prevent his icy grasp from choking all those who _dared_ to oppose him.

* * *

_Two years later…_

Revan and Alek both stood in front of the Coruscant Jedi Council.

Revan glanced over at Alek, and gave him a look that plainly said, _There is no arguing with these fools_.

"—and we have no idea why—" a Master said tiredly.

Revan interrupted the Master. "I'm sorry, but if you cannot see why we must take action against the threat of the Mandalorians, then I'm afraid we have no more to discuss. Sorry to have taken up your precious time."

With a sweeping bow, he and Alek left swiftly, before the Council could shake themselves out of their stunned stupor.

"Alek, you are the only Jedi besides myself that I would trust my life to, at this point. You alone understand that we must _fight_. If neither the Jedi Council here, or the one on Dantooine will do anything to try and stop these attacks, we must make the decision for them, and raise up an army of our own. We _must_ convince Jedi to side with us. We _must_ make them understand that we are the last hope of the Republic… of the Universe!" Revan turned around, and faced Alek with a serious expression on his face.

"Alek… the time to act is _now_. If you'd be willing, I would like to ask a favor," Revan said, serious, looking Alek straight in the eyes.

Green met Blue.

Blue met Green.

Alek nodded. "I will… Master."

Revan looked a little surprised, but grinned a bit. "Alek, how many times do I have to ask you to not call me that? I'm your friend, not your boss."

Alek grinned back. "And Revan, how many times do I have to tell you? You have taught me so many things concerning the Force, and have guided me throughout our training together on Dantooine, and even here. Until I feel I have nothing more to learn from you, I _will_ keep calling you Master."

Revan, reluctant, nodded, and continued to walk down the hall, leaving Alek in his wake.

_Revan's changed,_ Alek thought to himself. _No longer is he shy, or scared of War. I can't help but think, has this been the true face of him all along? Has he just been pretending to care what the Council thought, and now that they aren't taking action, he is showing his hand at last?_

Watching Revan walk down the hall, Alek sighed to himself, and scratched his head. _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all…_

Revan, turning around, as if sensing his doubts and worries, called back to the bald Jedi Knight. "Alek, don't worry! I've fought worse in my life, and I know you could handle the same. Just trust me. _Trust_ me."

Alek still looked a little uncertain, but then smiled at him. Walking out of the Jedi Temple together, they started on their new lives, and their new journeys, unknowing of where this new path would lead.

All Revan knew, was that he was going to destroy this Mandalorian scum, and that nothing, _nothing_, would prevent him from doing so. _Even_, he feared, _if it means that I must resort to… darker… means…_

This was Revan's greatest fear. He once had embraced the darkness, reveled in it. He had killed a man, pretending it was for the greater good, but actually for this simple truth:

Harry Potter.

Was not.

Caring.

Simple as that.

Revan however… Revan had a soul, had a heart, and had a new outlook on life. Still independent, but more open-minded.

Harry Potter… once had a heart, but that had died with a girl named Darra on a planet named Korriban.

And now, it had started again, the bloodlust, the excitement for a battle. Even channeling his darkness into Windu's lightsaber form of Vaapad hardly did anything. He was teetering on the edge, and if he wasn't careful… he would fall into the Dark Abyss that once was his soul.

Darth Lightning… was no more. In his stead, was Revan, Jedi Knight, keeper of Justice and Right.

If the Jedi Council couldn't see that…

He would just have to make them see.

* * *

_The dark is generous, and it is patient._

_It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt._

_The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds to sprout._

_The rain will come, and the seeds will sprout, for the dark is the soil in which they grow, and it is the clouds above them, and it waits behind the star that gives them light._

_The dark's patience is infinite._

_Eventually, even stars burn out._

* * *

Depowered lampdisks were rings of ghostly gray floating in the gloom. The shimmering jewelscape of Coruscant haloed the knife-edged shadow of the chair.

This was the office of the Chancellor.

Within the chair's shadow sat another shadow: deeper, darker, formless and impenetrable, an abyssal umbra so profound that it drained light from the room around it.

And from the city. And the planet.

And the galaxy.

The shadow waited. It had told the boy it would. It was looking forward to keeping its word.

For a change.

* * *

Night held the Jedi Temple.

On its rooftop landing deck, thin yellow light spilled in a stretching rectangle through a shuttle's hatchway, reflecting upward onto the faces of three Jedi Masters.

"I'd feel better if Yoda were here." This Master was a Nautiloid, tall and broad-shouldered, his glabrous scalp-tentacles restrained by loops of embossed leather. "Or even Kenobi. On Ord Cestus, Obi-Wan and I—"

"Yoda is pinned down on Kashyyyk, and Kenobi is out of contact on Utapau. The Dark Lord has revealed himself, and we dare not hesitate. Think not of _if_, Master Fisto; this duty has fallen to us. We will suffice." This Master was an Iktotchi, shorter and slimmer than the first. Two long horns curved downward from his forehead to below his chin. One had been amputated after being shattered in battle a few months before. Bacta had accelerated its regrowth, and the once maimed horn was now a match to the other. "We will suffice," he repeated. "We will have to."

"Peace," said the third Master, a Zabrak. Dew had gathered on his array of blunt vestigial skull-spines, glistening very like sweat. He gestured toward a Temple door that had cycled open. "Windu is coming."

Clouds had swept in with the twilight, and now a thin drizzling rain began to fall. The approaching Master walked with his shaven head lowered, his hands tucked within his sleeves.

"Master Ti and Gate Master Jurokk will direct the Temple's defense," he said as he reached the others. "We are shutting down all nav beacons and signal lights, we have armed the older Padawans, and all blast doors are sealed and code-locked." His gaze swept the Masters. "It's time to go."

"And Skywalker?" The Zabrak Master cocked his head as though he felt a distant disturbance in the Force. "What of the chosen one?"

"I have sent him to the Council Chamber until our return."

Mace Windu turned a grim stare upon the High Council Tower, squinting against the thickening rain. His hands withdrew from his sleeves. On of them held his lightsaber.

"He has done his duty, Masters. Now we shall do ours."

He walked between them into the shuttle.

The other three Masters shared a significant silence, then Agen Kolar nodded to himself and entered; Saesee Tiin stroked his regrown horn, and followed.

"I'd _still_ feel better if Yoda were here…," Kit Fisto muttered, and then went in as well.

Once the hatch had sealed behind him, the Jedi Temple belonged entirely to the night.

* * *

Alone in the Chamber of the Jedi Council, Anakin Sky walker wrestled with his dragon.

He was losing.

He paced the Chamber in blind arcs, stumbling among the chairs. He could not feel currents of the Force around him; he could not feel echoes of Jedi Masters in these ancient seats.

He had never dreamed there was this much pain in the universe.

Physical pain he could have handled even without his Jedi mental skills; he'd always been tough. At four years old he'd been able to take the worst beating Watto would deliver without so much as making a sound.

Nothing had prepared him for this.

He wanted to rip open his chest with his bare hands and claw out his heart.

"What have I _done_?" The question started as a low moan but grew to a howl he could no longer lock behind his teeth. "_What have I done_?"

He knew the answer: he had done his duty.

And now he couldn't imagine why.

_When I die,_ Palpatine had said, so calmly, so warmly, so reasonably, _my knowledge dies with me…_

Everywhere he looked, he saw only the face of the woman he loved beyond love: the woman for whom he channeled through his body all the love that had ever existed in the galaxy. In the universe.

He didn't care what she had done. He didn't care about conspiracies or cabals or secret pacts. Treason meant nothing to him now. She was everything that had ever been loved by anyone, and he was watching her die.

His agony somehow became an invisible hand, stretching out through the Force, a hand that found her, far away, alone in her apartment in the dark, a hand that felt the silken softness of her skin and the sleek coils of her hair, a hand that dissolved into a field of pure energy, of pure _feeling_ that reached _inside_ her—

And now he felt her, really _felt_ her in the Force, as though she could have been some kind of Jedi, too, but more than that: he felt a bond, a connection, deeper and more intimate than he'd ever had before with anyone, even Obi-Wan; for a precious eternal instant he _was_ her… he was the beat of her heart and he was the motion of her lips and he was her soft words as though she spoke a prayer to the stars—

_I love you, Anakin. I am yours, in life, and in death, wherever you go, whatever you do, we will always be one. Never doubt me, my love. I am yours._

—and her purity and her passion and the truth of her love flowed into him and through him and every atom of him screamed to the Force _how can I let her die?_

The Force had no answer for him.

The dragon in his soul, on the other hand, did.

_All things die, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out._

And no matter how hard he tried to summon it, no wisdom of Yoda's, no teaching of Obi-Wan's, not one scrap of Jedi lore came to him that could choke the dragon down.

But there _was_ an answer; he'd heard it just the other night.

_With such knowledge, to maintain life in someone already living would seem a small matter, don't you agree?_

Anakin stopped. His agony evaporated.

Palpatine was right.

It _was_ simple.

All he had to do was decide what he wanted.

* * *

Anti-fighter flask flashed on all sides. Even louder than the clatter of shrapnel and the snarl of his sublight drives, his cockpit hummed and rang with near hits from the turbo-laser fire of the capital ships crowding space around him. Sometimes his whirling spinning dive through the cloud of battle skimmed bursts so closely that the energy-scatter would slam his starfighter hard enough to bounce his head off the supports of his pilot's chair.

Right now Revan envied his soldiers in the other fighters: at least _they_ had helmets.

"Kaytoo," he said on internal comm, "can't you do something with the inertials?"

The droid ganged into the socket on his starfighter's left wing whistled something that sounded suspiciously like a human apology. Revan's frown deepened. K2-P93 had been spending too much time with HK-47, Revan's personal droid bodyguard, and translator.

New bursts of flak bracketed his path. He reached into the Force, feeling for a safe channel through the swarms of shrapnel and sizzling nets of particle beams.

There wasn't one.

He locked a snarl behind his teeth, twisting his starfighter around another explosion that could have peeled its armor like an overripe Ithorian starfruit. He hated this part. _Hated_ it.

Flying's for droids.

His cockpit speakers crackled. "_There isn't a droid made that can out-fly you, Master."_

He could still be surprised by the new depth of that voice. The calm confidence. The maturity. It seemed that only last week Alek had been that scared teenager who wasn't brave enough to explore the forests of Dantooine.

"Sorry," he muttered, kicking into a dive that slipped a turbo-laser burst by no more than a meter. "Was that out loud?"

"_Wouldn't matter if it wasn't. I know what you're thinking."_

"Do you?" He looked up through the cockpit canopy to find his onetime fellow Padawan flying inverted, mirroring him so closely that but for the trans-paristeel between them, they might have shaken hands. Revan smiled up at him. "Some new gift of the Force?"

"_Not the Force, Master. Experience. That's what you're _always_ thinking._"

Revan kept hoping to hear some of Alek's old cocky, happy grin in his tone, but he never did. Not since Serroco. Perhaps not even since that day in the Jedi Council.

The war had burned it out of him.

Revan still tried, now and again, to spark a real smile in his friend, and former fellow Padawan. And Alek still tried to answer.

They both still tried to pretend the war hadn't changed them.

"Ah." Revan took a hand from the starfighter's control yoke to direct his upside-down friend's attention forward. Dead ahead, a blue-white point of light splintered into four laser-straight trails of ion drives. "And what does experience tell you we should do about those incoming tri-fighters?"

"_That we should break—_right_!_"

Revan was already making that exact move as Alek spoke but they were inverted to each other: breaking right shot him one way while Alek whipped the other. The tri-fighters' cannons ripped space between them, tracking faster than their starfighters could slip.

His onboard threat display chimed a warning: two of the droids had remote sensor locks on him. The others must have lit up his partner. "Alek! Slip-jaws!"

"_My thought exactly._"

Revan couldn't shake off the feeling of how eerily similar this starfighter battle was, to the one that would happen 4,000 years into the future, when he, Anakin, and Obi-Wan went to rescue that no-good traitor Palpatine.

_Of course, I'm the only one who knew he was the Dark Lord…_

And then another thought entered Revan's mind.

_Maybe I should have told someone about Palpatine being Sidious _before_ I left…_

They blew past the tri-fighters, looping in evasive spirals. The droid ships wrenched themselves into pursuit maneuvers that would have killed any living pilot.

The slip-jaws maneuver was named for the scissor-like mandibles of the Kashyyyk slash-spider. Droids closing rapidly on their tails, cannon-fire stitching space on all sides, the two Jedi pulled their ships through perfectly mirrored rolls that sent them streaking head-on for each other from the opposite ends of a vast Republic cruiser.

For merely human pilots, this would be suicide. By the time you can see your partner's starfighter streaking toward you at a respectable fraction of light-speed; it's already too late for your merely human reflexes to react.

But these particular pilots were far from merely human.

The Force nudged hands on control yokes and the Jedi starfighters twisted and flashed past each other belly-to-belly, close enough to scorch each other's pain. Tri-fighters were the electronic reflexes of the tri-fighter's droid brains were too slow for this: one of his pursuers met one of Revan's head-on. Both vanished in a blossom of flame.

The shock wave of debris and expanding gas rocked Revan; he fought the control yoke, barely keeping his starfighter out of a tumble that would have smeared him across the cruiser's ventral hull. Before he could straighten out, his threat display chimed again.

* * *

"Oh, marvelous," Alek muttered under his breath. Revan's surviving pursuer had switched targets. "Why is it always me?"

"_Perfect._" Through the cockpit speakers, Revan's voice carried grim satisfaction. "_Both of them are on your tail."_

"Perfect is _not_ the word I'd use." Alek twisted his yoke, juking madly as space around him flared scarlet. "We have to split them up!"

"_Break left."_ Revan sounded calm as a stone. "_The turbo-laser tower off your port bow: thread its guns. I'll take things from there._"

"Easy for you to say." Alek whipped sideways along the cruiser's superstructure. Fire from the pursuing tri-fighters blasted burning chunks from the cruiser's armor. "Why am I always the bait?"

"_I'm right behind you. Kaytoo, lock on._"

Alek spun his starfighter between the recoiling turbo-cannons close enough that energy-scatter made his cockpit clang like a gong, but still cannon-fire flashed past him from the tri-fighters behind. "Revan, they're all over me!"

"_Dead ahead. Move right to clear my shot. Now!"_

Alek flared his port jets and the starfighter kicked to the right. One of the tri-fighters behind him decided it couldn't follow and went for a ventral slip that took it directly into the blasts from Revan's cannons.

It vanished in a boil of superheated gas.

"_Good shooting, Kaytoo._" Revan's dry chuckle in the cockpit's speakers vanished behind the clang of lasers blasting ablative shielding off Alek's left wing.

"I'm running out of _tricks_ here—"

* * *

Clearing the vast Republic cruiser put Revan on course for the curving hull of one of the Mandalorian battleships; space between the two capital ships blazed with turbo-laser exchanges. Some of those flashing energy blasts were as big around as his entire ship; the merest braze would blow him to atoms.

Revan dived right in.

He had the Force to guide him through, and the tri-fighter had only its electronic reflexes—but those electronic reflexes operated at roughly the speed of light. It stayed on his tail as if he were dragging it by a tow cable.

When Revan went left and Alek right, the tri-fighter would swing halfway through the difference. The same with up and down. It was averaging his movements with Alek's somehow its droid brain had realized that as long as it stayed between the two Jedi, Revan couldn't fire on it without hitting his partner. The tri-fighter was under no similar restraint: Alek flew through a storm of scarlet needles.

"No wonder we're losing the war," Revan muttered. "They're getting _smarter_."

"_What was that, Master? I didn't copy."_

Revan kicked his starfighter into a tight spiral toward the Federation cruiser. "I'm taking the deck!"

"_Good idea. I need some room to maneuver._"

Cannon-fire tracked closer. Revan's cockpit speakers buzzed. "_Cut right, Revan! Hard right! Don't let him get a handle on you! Peafour, lock on!_"

Revan's starfighter streaked along the curve of the Separatist cruiser. Anti-fighter flak burst on all sides as the cruiser's guns tried to pick him up. He rolled a right wingover into the service trench that stretched the length of the cruiser's hull. This low and close to the deck, the cruiser's anti-fighter guns couldn't depress their angle of fire enough to get a shot, but the tri-fighter stayed right on his tail.

At the far end of the service trench, the massive support buttresses of the cruiser's towering bridge left no room for even Revan's small craft. He kicked his starfighter into a half roll that whipped him out of the trench and shot him straight up the tower's angled leading edge. One burst of his under-jets jerked him past the forward viewports of the bridge with only meters to spare—and the tri-fighter followed his path exactly.

"Of course," he muttered. "That would have been too easy. Squint, where _are_ you?"

One of the control surfaces on his left wing shattered in a burst of plasma. It felt like being shot in the arm. He toggled switches, fighting the yoke. K2-P93 shrilled at him. Revan keyed internal comm. "Don't try to fix it, Kaytoo. I've shut it down."

"_I have a lock!_" Alek said. "_Go! Firing—now!"_

Revan hit maximum drag on his intact wing, and his starfighter shot into a barely controlled arc high and right as Alek's cannons vaporized the last tri-fighter.

Revan fired retros to stall his starfighter in the blind spot behind the Mandalorian cruiser's bridge. He hung there for a few seconds to get his breathing and heart under control. "Thanks, Squint. That was—thanks. That's all."

"_Don't thank me. It was Peafour's shooting."_

"Yes, I suppose, if you like, you can thank your droid for me as well. And, Squint—?"

"_Yes, Master?"_

"Next time, _you're_ the bait."

"_But I thought I _was_ the bait this time?"_

"You must have been mistaken."

* * *

The Coruscant nightfall was spreading through the galaxy.

The darkness in the Force was no hindrance to the shadow in the Chancellor's office; it _was_ the darkness. Wherever darkness dwelled, the shadow could send perception.

In the night, the shadow felt the boy's anguish, and it was good. The shadow felt the grim determination of four Jedi Masters approaching by air.

This, too, was good.

As a Jedi shuttle settled to the landing deck outside, the shadow sent its mind into the far deeper night within one of the several pieces of sculpture that graced the office: an abstract twist of solid neuranium, so heavy that the office floor had been specially reinforced to bear its weight, so dense that more sensitive species might, from very close range, actually perceive the tiny warping of the fabric of space-time that was its gravitation.

Neuranium of more than roughly a millimeter thick is impervious to sensors; the standard security scans undergone by all equipment and furniture to enter the Senate Office Building had shown nothing at all. If anyone had thought to use an advanced gravimetric detector, however, they might have discovered that one smallish section of the sculpture massed slightly less than it should have, given that the manifest that had accompanied it, when it was brought from Naboo among the then-ambassador's personal effects, clearly stated that it was a single piece of solid-forged neuranium.

The manifest was a lie. The sculpture was not entirely solid, and not all of it was neuranium.

Within a long, slim, rod-shaped cavity around which the sculpture had been forged rested a device that had lain, waiting, in absolute darkness—darkness beyond darkness—for decades.

Waiting for night to fall on the Republic.

The shadow felt Jedi Masters stride the vast echoic emptiness of the vaulted halls outside. It could practically hear the cadence of their boot heels on the Alderaanian marble.

The darkness within the sculpture whispered of the shape and the feel and every intimate resonance of the device it cradled. With a twist of its will, the shadow triggered the device.

The neuranium got warm.

A small round spot, small than the circle a human child might make of thumb and forefinger, turned the color of old blood.

Then fresh blood.

Then open flame.

Finally a spear of scarlet energy lanced free, painting the office with the color of stars seen through the smoke of burning planets.

The spear of energy lengthened, drawing with it out from the darkness the device, then the scarlet blade shrank away and the device slid itself within the softer darkness of a sleeve.

As shouts of the Force scattered Redrobes beyond the office's outer doors, the shadow gestured and lampdisks ignited. Another shout of the Force burst open the inner door to the private office. As Jedi stormed in, a final flick of the shadow's will triggered a recording device concealed within the desk.

Audio only.

"Why, Master Windu," said the shadow. "What a pleasant surprise."

* * *

Shaak Ti felt him coming before she could see him. The infra- and ultrasound-sensitive cavities in the tall, curving montrals to either side of her head gave her a sense analogous to touch: the texture of his approaching footsteps was ragged as old sacking. As he rounded the corner to the landing deck door, his breathing felt like a pile of gravel and his heartbeat was spiking like a Zabrak's head.

He didn't look good, either; he was deathly pale, even for a human, and his eyes were raw.

"Anakin," she said warmly. Perhaps a friendly word was what he needed; she doubted he'd gotten many from Mace Windu. "Thank you for what you have done. The Jedi Order is in your debt—the whole galaxy, as well."

"Shaak Ti. Get out of my way."

Shaky as he looked, there was nothing unsteady in his voice: it was deeper than she remembered, more mature, and it carried undertones of authority that she had never heard before.

And she was not blind to the fact he had neglected to call her _Master_.

She put forth a hand, offering calming energies through the Force. "The Temple is sealed, Anakin. The door is code-locked."

"And you're in the way of the pad."

She stepped aside, allowing him to the pad; she had no reason to keep him here against his will. He punched the code hungrily. "If Palpatine retaliates," she said reasonably, "is not your place here, to help with our defense?"

"I'm the _chosen one_. My place is _there_." His breathing roughened, and he looked as if he was getting even sicker. "I have to be there. That's the prophecy, isn't it? _I have to be there—"_

"Anakin, why? The Masters are the best of the Order. What can you possibly do?"

The door slid open.

"I'm the chosen one," he repeated. "Prophecy can't be changed. I'll do—"

He looked at her with eyes that were dying, and a spasm of unendurable pain passed over his face. Shaak Ti reached for him—he should be in the infirmary, not heading toward what might be a savage battle—but he lurched away from her hand.

"I'll do what I'm _supposed_ to do," he said, and sprinted into the night and the rain.

* * *

A/N: End of Chapter 2! Thanks to all of those who reviewed! I'm trying to keep up with my pace of having long chapters! Anyways, review of course, and don't flame! I'll update soon, don't worry.

Beggs


	3. Darkness Rising

A/N: I would just like to announce, that I'm going to TRY to stick to KOTOR, but seeing as I've never played the game or read the comics, I'm a little, lets just say, lacking, in terms of great knowledge. I get all of my source-material that I use in this story from Wookiepedia. How accurate that site is, I don't know, but I'm using it. So please don't flame me, saying that I'm completely messing up the storyline. Blame it on Wookiepedia for not being really clear on events. Okay, thanks alot!

* * *

_She stepped aside, allowing him to the pad; she had no reason to keep him here against his will. He punched the code hungrily. "If Palpatine retaliates," she said reasonably, "is not your place here, to help with our defense?"_

"_I'm the __**chosen one**__. My place is __**there**__." His breathing roughened, and he looked as if he was getting even sicker. "I have to be there. That's the prophecy, isn't it? __**I have to be there—**__"_

"_Anakin, why? The Masters are the best of the Order. What can you possibly do?"_

_The door slid open._

"_I'm the chosen one," he repeated. "Prophecy can't be changed. I'll do—"_

_He looked at her with eyes that were dying, and a spasm of unendurable pain passed over his face. Shaak Ti reached for him—he should be in the infirmary, not heading toward what might be a savage battle—but he lurched away from her hand._

"_I'll do what I'm __**supposed**__ to do," he said, and sprinted into the night and the rain._

* * *

**Chapter Three:**

**Darkness Rising**

* * *

_(The following is a transcript of an audio recording presented before the Galactic Senate on the afternoon of the first Empire Day; identities of all speakers verified and confirmed by voiceprint analysis)_

PALPATINE: Why, Master Windu. What a pleasant surprise.

MACE WINDU: Hardly a surprise, Chancellor. And it will be pleasant for neither of us.

PALPATINE: I'm sorry? Master Fisto, hello. Master Kolar, greetings. I trust you are well. Master Tiin—I see your horn has regrown; I'm very glad. What brings four Jedi Masters to my office at this hour?

MACE WINDU: We know who you are. What you are. We are here to take you into custody.

PALPATINE: I beg your pardon? What I am? When last I checked, I was Supreme Chancellor of the Republic you are sworn to serve. I hope I misunderstand what you mean by _custody_, Master Windu. It smacks of treason.

MACE WINDU: You're under arrest.

PALPATINE: Really, Master Windu, you cannot be serious. On what charge?

MACE WINDU: You're a Sith Lord!

PALPATINE: Am I? Even if true, that's hardly a crime. My philosophical outlook is personal matter. In fact—the last time I read the Constitution, anyway—we have very strict laws against this type of persecution. So I ask you again: what is my alleged crime? How do you expect to justify your mutiny before the Senate? Or do you intend to arrest the Senate as well?

MACE WINDU: We're not here to argue with you.

PALPATINE: No, you're here to imprison me without trial. Without even the pretense of legality. So this is the plan, at last: the Jedi are taking over the Republic.

MACE WINDU: Come with us. Now.

PALPATINE: I shall do no such thing. If you intend to murder me, you can do so right here.

MACE WINDU: Don't try to resist.

_(Sounds that have been identified by frequency resonances to be the ignition of several lightsabers)_

PALPATINE: Resist? How could I possibly resist? This is _murder_, you Jedi traitors! How can _I_ be of any threat to you? Master Tiin—you're the telepath. What am I thinking right now?

_(Sounds of a scuffle)_

KIT FISTO: Saesee—

AGEN KOLAR: _Garbled; possibly "It doesn't hurt" (?)_

_(Sounds of a scuffle)_

PALPATINE: Help! Help! Security—_someone!_ Help me! _Murder! Treason!_

_(Recording ends)_

* * *

A fountain of amethyst energy burst from Mace Windu's fist. "Don't try to resist."

The song of his blade was echoed by green fire from the hands of Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin. Kolar and Tiin closed on Palpatine, blocking the path to the door. Shadows dripped and oozed color, weaving and coiling up office walls, slipping over chairs, spreading along the floor.

"Resist? How could I possibly resist?" Still seated at the desk, Palpatine shook an empty fist helplessly, the perfect image of a tired, frightened old man. "This is _murder_, you Jedi traitors! How can _I_ be of any threat to you?"

He turned desperately to Saesee Tiin. "Master Tiin—you're the telepath. What am I thinking right now?"

Tiin frowned and cocked his head. His blade dipped. A smear of red-flashing darkness hurtled from behind the desk.

Saesee Tiin's head bounced when it hit the floor.

Smoke cured from the neck, and from the twin stumps of the horns, severed just below the chin.

Smoke curled from the neck, and from the twin stumps of the horns, severed just below the chin.

Kit Fisto gasped, "Saesee!"

The headless corpse, still standing, twisted as its knees buckled, and a thin sigh escaped from its trachea as it folded to the floor.

"It doesn't…" Agen Kolar swayed.

His emerald blade shrank away, and the hand grip tumbled from his opening fingers. A small, neat hole in the middle of his forehead leaked smoke, showing light from the back of his head.

"…hurt…"

He pitched forward onto his face, and lay still.

Palpatine stood at the doorway, but the door stayed shut. From his right hand extended a blade the color of fire.

The door locked itself at his back.

"Help! Help!" Palpatine cried like a man in desperate fear for his life. "Security—_someone!_ Help me! _Murder! Treason!_"

Then he smiled.

He held one finger to his lips, and astonishingly, he winked.

In the blank second that followed, while Mace Windu and Kit Fisto could do no more than angle their lightsabers to guard, Palpatine swiftly stepped over the bodies back toward his desk, reversed his blade, and drove it in a swift, surgically precise stab down through his desktop.

"That's enough of _that_."

He let it burn its way free through the front, then he turned, lifting his weapon, appearing to study it as one might study the face of a beloved friend one has long thought dead. Power gathered around him until the Force shimmered with darkness.

"If you only knew," he said softly, perhaps speaking to the Jedi Masters, or perhaps to himself, or perhaps even to the scarlet blade lifted now as though in mocking salute, "how long I have been waiting for this…"

* * *

Anakin's speeder shrieked through the rain, dodging forked bolts of lightning that shot up from towers into the clouds, slicing across traffic lanes, screaming past spacescrapers so fast that his shock-wave cracked windows as he passed.

He didn't understand why people didn't just get out of his way. He didn't understand how the trillion beings that jammed Galactic City could go about their trivial business as though the universe hadn't changed. How could they think they counted for anything, compared to him?

How could they think they still mattered?

Their blind lives meant nothing now. None of them. Because ahead, on the vast cliff face of the Senate Office Building, one window spat lightning into the rain to echo the lightning of the storm outside—but this lightning was the color of clashing lightsabers.

Green fans, sheets of purple—

And crimson flame.

He was too late.

The green fire faded and winked out; now the lightning was only purple and red.

His repulsorlifts howled as he heeled the speeder up onto its side, skidding through wind-shear turbulence to bring it to a bobbing halt outside the window of Palpatine's private office. A blast of lightning hit the spire of 500 Republica, only a kilometer away, and its white burst flared off the window, flash-blinding him; he blinked furiously, slapping at his eyes in frustration.

The colorless glare inside his eyes faded slowly, bringing into focus a jumble of bodies on the floor of Palpatine's private office.

Bodies in Jedi robes.

On Palpatine's desk lay the head of Kit Fisto, face-up, scalp-tentacles unbound in a squid-tangle across the ebonite. His lidless eyes stared blindly at the ceiling. Anakin remembered him in the arena at Geonosis, effortlessly carving his way through wave after wave of combat droids, on his lips a gently humorous smile as though the horrific battle were only some friendly jest. His severed head wore that same smile.

Maybe he thought death was funny, too.

Anakin's own blade sang blue as it slashed through the window and he dived through the gap. He rolled to his feet among a litter of bodies and sprinted through a shattered door along the small private corridor and through a doorway that flashed and flared with energy-scatter.

Anakin skidded to a stop.

Within the public office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, a last Jedi Master battled alone, blade-to-blade, against a living shadow.

* * *

Sinking into Vaapad, Mace Windu fought for his life.

More than his life: each whirl of blade and whip-crack of lightning was a strike in defense of democracy, of justice and peace, of the rights of ordinary beings to live their own lives in their own ways.

He was fighting for the Republic that he loved.

Vaapad, the seventh form of lightsaber combat, takes its name from a notoriously dangerous predator native to the moons of Sarapin: a vaapad attacks its prey with whipping strikes of its blindingly fast tentacles. Most have at least seven. It is not uncommon for them to have as many as twelve; the largest ever killed had twenty-three. With a vaapad, one never knew how many tentacles it had until it was dead: they move too fast to count. Almost too fast to see.

So did Mace's blade.

Vaapad is as aggressive and powerful as its namesake, but its power comes at great risk: immersion in Vaapad opens the gates that restrain one's inner darkness. To use Vaapad, a Jedi must allow himself to _enjoy_ the fight; he must give himself over to the thrill of battle. The rush of _winning_. Vaapad is a path that leads through the penumbra of the dark side.

Mace Windu created this style, and he was its only living master.

This was Vaapad's ultimate test.

* * *

Revan awoke from his dream. Gasping, looking around at his surroundings, he fell back onto his pillow.

Taking in what he had just Seen through the Force, he knew that there was going to be major events going on soon. Not only in this time, but 4,000 years into the future as well, where Anakin was struggling within himself.

Not sure he could stand much more of the torment going on inside of his soul right now, Revan jumped out of bed, eyes shut, and dived off of his balcony, overlooking the horizon of Coruscant's space-scrapers.

Revan fell about 4 stories before using the Force to slow himself down, until he was floating, still miles above the surface of the planet. Eyes still closed, he pulled out a long, thin wooden stick, and twirled it casually with his fingers.

Green eyes opened.

Looking at his reflection in the window, he looked at himself properly for the first time in over two years.

His raven-black hair had grown out, now at about shoulder length. His face mostly clean, with a scar on his cheek, going from his ear to his jawbone. That one had come from a somewhat nasty sparring match he had had with a particularly competitive Padawan he had met here on Coruscant.

At a height of about six feet, two inches, Revan was broad-shouldered, well-toned and defined, and had eyes that reminded some of the Emerald Dragon gems told about in fairy tales.

But on closer inspection, they weren't pure emerald-green. Instead, there seemed to be flecks of yellow, giving them a sort of golden tint.

Revan thought he had changed for the better. He wasn't sure where the yellow had come from, but he wasn't complaining.

Using the Force to guide him, he flew out to the factory section of Coruscant, called The Works, and lightly touched down on an abandoned platform. Looking around, Revan smiled to himself.

Pulling his wand out again, not realizing that he had even put it away, Revan pointed the long shaft of it towards a large Mandalorian-style statue of a man dressed up in body armor.

Smirking, a red bolt of light shot out of the tip, and made contact with the statue.

At first, nothing happened.

_BOOM!_

Pieces of granite flying everywhere, the whole building was shaking.

All the while, Revan just stood there, silently flicking his wrist here and there, creating complex movements with his wand.

Revan felt a presence in the Force, hiding in between the giant pipes, but not feeling any malicious or malevolent intent coming from it, so he ignored it. He did, however, put up his hood, and hid his Force Signature. He would just let whoever it was assume that he wasn't a Jedi, or even Force Sensitive. The last thing he needed was for someone to accuse him of studying Sith Magic.

He felt the presence sneaking out behind him, and he heard a lightsaber's hum.

Turning around, he looked at the lightsaber owner's face.

It was Alek.

And he looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Thinking quickly, he called out to him, hoping to get his guard down. "Alek?"

It worked.

Alek lowered his lightsaber hesitantly, and Revan silently stunned his friend.

Revan searched around in the Force for some kind of transport that Alek had arrived in. He found Alek's yellow open speeder.

Carefully putting Alek inside, Revan hopped in as well, started up the engine, and flew back towards their quarters back in the city.

Through the ripples of time and space, Revan felt a strong impression happening upon him. As he was inside of his room, quickly sealed the room, and put a silencing ward around it, because he knew he was about to scream. Loud.

Pain.

That's all Revan knew, as he was crouched over, clutching at his chest.

The Force opened his eyes to the reality of the future, and what was to come.

Hundreds of Jedi were being slaughtered, some of the more well-known ones he recognized.

Ki-Adi-Mundi.

Saesee Tiin.

Kit Fisto.

Shaak Ti.

And finally, he saw the death of Mace Windu. And it wasn't how he had imagined it, at all.

His best friend… His closest ally…

Anakin Skywalker…

Had killed Windu.

Revan, tears silently streaming down his face, welcomed the oncoming darkness of sleep, hoping that somehow, when he woke up, he would feel a lot better about the situation.

* * *

Anakin blinked and rubbed his eyes again. Maybe he was still a bit flash-blind—the Korun Master seemed to be fading in and out of existence, half-swallowed by a thickening black haze in which danced a meter-long bar of sunfire. Mace pressed back the darkness with a relentless straight-ahead march; his own blade, that distinctive amethyst blaze that had been the final sight of so many evil beings across the galaxy, made a haze of its own: an oblate sphere of purple fire within which there seemed to be dozens of swords slashing in all directions at once.

The shadow he fought, that blur of speed—could that be _Palpatine_?

Their blades flared and flashed, crashing together with bursts of fire, weaving nets of killing energy in exchanges so fast that Anakin could not truly see them—

But he could feel them in the Force.

The Force itself roiled and burst and crashed around them, boiling with power and lightspeed ricochets of lethal intent.

And it was darkening.

Anakin could feel how the Force fed upon the shadow's murderous exaltation; he could feel fury spray into the Force though some poisonous abscess had crested in both their hearts.

There was no Jedi restraint here.

Mace Windu was cutting loose.

* * *

Mace was deep in it now: submerged in Vaapad, swallowed by it, he no longer truly existed as an independent being.

Vaapad is a channel for darkness, and that darkness flowed both ways. He accepted the furious speed of the Sith Lord, drew the shadow's rage and power into his inmost center—

And let it fountain out again.

He reflected the fury upon its source as a lightsaber redirects a blaster bolt.

There was a time when Mace Windu had feared the power of the dark; there was a time when he had feared the darkness in himself. But the Clone Wars had given him a gift of understand: on a world called Haruun Kal, he had faced his darkness and had learned that the power of darkness is not to be feared.

He learned that it is fear that gives the darkness power.

He was not afraid. The darkness had no power over him. But—

Neither did he have power over it.

Vaapad made him an open channel, half of a superconducting loop completed by the shadow; they became a standing wave of battle that expanded into every cubic centimeter of the Chancellor's office. There was no scrap of carpet nor shred of chair that might not at any second disintegrate in flares of red or purple; lampstands became brief shields, sliced into segments that whirled through the air; couches became terrain to be climbed for advantage or overleapt in retreat. But there was still only the cycle of power, the endless loop, no wound taken on either side, not even the possibility of fatigue.

Impasse.

Which might have gone on forever, if Vaapad were Mace's only gift.

The fighting was effortless for him now; he let his body handle it without the intervention of his mind. While his blade spun and crackled, while his feet slid and his weight shifted and his shoulders turned in precise curves of their own direction, his mind slid along the circuit of dark power, tracing it back to its limitless source.

Feeling for its shatterpoint.

He found a knot of fault lines in the shadow's future; he chose the largest fracture and followed it back to the here and now—

And it led him, astonishingly, to a man standing frozen in the slashed-open doorway. Mace had no need to look; the presence in the Force was familiar, and was as uplifting as sunlight breaking through a thunderhead.

The chosen one was here.

Mace disengaged from the shadow's blade and leapt for the window; he slashed away the transparisteel with a single flourish.

His instant's distraction cost him: a dark surge of the Force nearly blew him right out of the gap he had just cut. Only a desperate Force-push of his own altered his path enough that he slammed into a stanchion instead of plunging half a kilometer from the ledge outside. He bounced off and the Force cleared his head and once again he gave himself to Vaapad.

He could feel the end of this battle approaching, and so could the blur of Sith he faced; in the Force, the shadow had become a pulsar of fear. Easily, almost effortlessly, he turned the shadow's fear into a weapon: he angled the battle to bring them both out onto the window ledge.

Out in the wind. Out with the lightning. Out on a rain-slicked ledge above a half-kilometer drop.

Out where the shadow's fear made it hesitate. Out where the shadow's fear turned some of its Force-powered speed into a Force-powered grip on the slippery permacrete.

Out where Mace could flick his blade in one precise arc and slash the shadow's lightsaber in half.

One piece flipped back in through the cut-open window. The other tumbled from opening fingers, bounced on the ledge, and fell through the rain toward the distant alleys below.

Now the shadow was only Palpatine: old and shrunken, thinning hair bleached white by time and care, face lined with exhaustion.

"For all your power, you are no Jedi. All you are, my lord," Mace said evenly, staring past his blade, "is under arrest."

"Do you see, Anakin? Do you?" Palpatine's voice once again had the broken cadence of a frightened old man's. "Didn't I warn you of the Jedi and their treason?"

"Save your twisted words, my lord. There are no politicians here. The Sith will never regain control of the Republic. It's over. You've lost." Mace leveled his blade. "You've lost for the same reason the Sith always lose: defeated by your own fear."

Palpatine lifted his head. His eyes smoked with hate.

"Fool," he said.

He lifted his arms, his robes of office spreading wide into raptor's wings, his hands hooking into talons.

"_Fool!_" His voice was a shout of thunder. "Do you think the fear you feel is _mine_?"

Lightning blasted the clouds above, and lightning blasted from Palpatine's hands, and Mace didn't have time to comprehend what Palpatine was talking about; he had time only to slip back into Vaapad and angle his blade to catch the forking arcs of pure, dazzling hatred that clawed toward him.

Because Vaapad is more than a fighting style. It is a state of mind: a channel for darkness. Power passed into him and out again without touching him.

And the circuit completed itself: the lightning reflected back to its source.

Palpatine staggered, snarling, but the blistering energy that poured from his hands only intensified.

He fed the power with his pain.

"Anakin!" Mace called. His voice sounded distant, blurred, as if it came from the bottom of a well. "Anakin, help me! This is your chance!"

He felt Anakin's leap from the office floor to the ledge, felt his approach behind—

And Palpatine was not afraid.

Mace could feel it: he wasn't worried at all.

"Destroy this traitor," the Chancellor said, his voice raised over the howl of writhing energy that joined his hands to Mace's blade. "This was never an arrest. It's an _assassination!_"

That was when Mace finally understood. He had it. The key to final victory. Palpatine's shatterpoint. The absolute shatterpoint of the Sith.

The shatterpoint of the dark side itself.

Mace thought, blankly astonished, _Palpatine trusts Anakin Skywalker…_

Now Anakin was at Mace's shoulder. Palpatine still made no move to defend himself from Skywalker; instead he ramped up the lightning bursting from his hands, bending the fountain of Mace's blade back toward the Korun Master's face.

Palpatine's eyes glowed with power, casting a yellow glare that burned back the rain from around them. "He is a traitor, Anakin. Destroy him."

"You're the chosen one, Anakin," Mace said, his voice going thin with strain. This was beyond Vaapad; he had no strength left to fight against his own blade. "Take him. It's your _destiny_."

Skywalker echoed him faintly. "Destiny…"

"Help me! I can't hold on any longer!" The yellow glare from Palpatine's eyes spread outward through his flesh. His skin flowed like oil, as though the muscle beneath was burning away, as though even the bones of his skull were softening, were bending and bulging, deforming from the heat and pressure of his electric hatred. "He is _killing_ me, Anakin—! Please, Anaa_ahhh_—"

Mace's blade bent so close to his face that he was choking on ozone. "Anakin, he's too _strong_ for me—"

"_Ahhh_—" Palpatine's roar above the endless blast of lightning became a fading moan of despair.

The lightning swallowed itself, leaving only the night and the rain, and an old man crumpled to his knees on a slippery ledge.  
"I…can't. I give up. I…I am too weak, in the end. Too old, and too weak. Don't kill me, Master Jedi. Please. I surrender."

Victory flooded through Mace's aching body. He lifted his blade. "You Sith _disease_—"

"_Wait_—" Skywalker seized his lightsaber arm with desperate strength. "Don't kill him—you can't just _kill_ him, Master—"

"Yes, I can," Mace said, grim and certain. "I have to."

"You came to _arrest_ him. He has to stand _trial_—"

"A trial would be a joke. He controls the courts. He controls the Senate—"

"So are you going to kill all _them_, too? Like he _said_ you would?"

Mace yanked his arm free. "He's too dangerous to be left alive. If Potter wasn't there, would you have taken _Dooku_ alive, instead of killing him?"

Skywalker's face swept itself clean of emotion. "That was _different_—"

Mace turned toward the cringing, beaten Sith Lord. "You can explain the difference after he'd dead."

He raised his lightsaber.

"_I_ need him _alive!_" Skywalker shouted. "I need him to save _Padme!"_

Mace thought blankly, _Why?_ And moved his lightsaber toward the fallen Chancellor.

Before he could follow through on his stroke, a sudden arc of blue plasma shear through his wrist and his hand tumbled away with his lightsaber in it and Palpatine roared back to his feet and lightning speared from the Sith Lord's hands and without his blade to catch it, the power of Palpatine's hate struck him full-on.

He had been so intent on Palpatine's shatterpoint that he'd never thought to look for Anakin's.

Dark lightning blasted away his universe.

He fell forever.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker knelt in the rain.

He was looking at a hand. The hand had brown skin. The hand held a lightsaber. The hand had a charred oval of tissue where it should have been attached to an arm.

"What have I done?"

Was it his voice? It must have been. Because it was his question.

"What have I _done_?"

Another hand, a warm and human hand, laid itself softly on his shoulder.

"You're following your destiny, Anakin," said a familiar gentle voice. "The Jedi are traitors. You saved the Republic from their treachery. You can see that, can't you?"

"You were right," Anakin heard himself saying. "Why didn't I know?"

"You couldn't have. They cloaked themselves in deception, my boy. Because they feared your power, they could never trust you."

Anakin stared at the hand, but he no longer saw it. "Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan trusts me…"

"Not enough to tell you of their plot."

Treason echoed in his memory.

…_this is not an assignment for the record…_

That warm and human hand gave his shoulder a warm and human squeeze. "I do not fear your power, Anakin, I _embrace_ it. You are the greatest of the Jedi. You can be the greatest of the Sith. I believe that, Anakin. I believe in _you_. _I_ trust you. I _trust_ you. I trust _you_."

Anakin looked away from the dead hand on the ledge to the living one on his shoulder, then up to the face of the man who stood above him, and what he saw there choked him like an invisible fist crushing his throat.

The hand on his shoulder was human.

The face… wasn't.

The eyes were a cold and feral yellow, and they gleamed like those of a predator lurking beyond a fringe of firelight; the bone around those feral eyes had swollen and melted and flowed like durasteel spilled from a fusion smelter, and the flesh that blanketed it had gone corpse-gray and coarse as rotten synthplast.

Stunned with horror, stunned with revulsion, Anakin could only stare at the creature. At the shadow.

Looking into the face of the darkness, he saw his future.

"Now come inside," the darkness said.

After a moment, he did.

* * *

Anakin stood just within the office. Motionless.

Palpatine examined the damage to his face in a broad expanse of wall mirror. Anakin couldn't tell if his expression might be revulsion, or if this was merely the new shape of his features. Palpatine lifted one tentative hand to the misshapen horror that he now saw in the mirror, then simply shrugged.

"And so the mask becomes the man," he sighed with a hint of philosophical melancholy. "I shall miss the face of Palpatine, I think; but for our purpose, the face of Sidious will serve. Yes, it will serve."

He gestured, and a hidden compartment opened in the office's ceiling above his desk. A voluminous robe of heavy black-on-black brocade floated downward from it; Anakin felt the current in the Force that carried the robe to Palpatine's hand.

He remembered playing a Force game with a shurra fruit, sitting across a long table from Padme in the retreat by the lake on Naboo. He remembered telling her how grumpy Obi-Wan would be to see him use the Force so casually.

Palpatine seemed to catch his thought; he gave a yellow side-long glance as the robe settled onto his shoulders.

"You must learn to cast off the petty restraints that the Jedi have tried to place upon your power," he said. "Anakin, it's time. I need you to help me restore order to the galaxy."

Anakin didn't respond.

Sidious said, "Join me. Pledge yourself to the Sith. Become my apprentice."

A wave of tingling started at the base of Anakin's skull and spread over his whole body in a slow-motion shockwave.

"I—I can't."

"Of course you can."

Anakin shook his head and found that the rest of him threatened to begin shaking as well. "I—came to save your life, sir. Not to betray my friends—"

Sidious snorted. "_What_ friends?"

"Harry Potter."

Sidious stared at him, then laughed. "Anakin, my boy, listen to me. If Potter was truly your friend, would he not be here, right now, helping you fulfill your destiny?"

Anakin could find no answer.

Sidious, changing directions with the conversation, continued. "And do you think that the task is finished, my boy?" Sidious seated himself on the corner of the desk, hands folded in his lap, the way he always had when offering Anakin fatherly advice; the misshapen mask of his face made the familiarity of his posture into something horrible. "Do you think that killing one traitor will end treason? Do you think the Jedi will ever stop until I am dead?"

Anakin stared at his hands. The left one was shaking. He hid it behind him.

"It's them or me, Anakin. Or perhaps I should put it more plainly: It's them or _Padme_."

Anakin made his right hand—his black-gloved hand of durasteel and electrodrivers—into a fist.

"It's just—it's not…easy that's all. I have—I've been a Jedi for so long—"

Sidious offered an appalling smile. "There is a place within you, my boy, a place as briskly clean as ice on a mountaintop, cool and remote. Find that high place, and look down within yourself; breathe that clean, icy air as you regard your guilt and shame. Do not deny them; observe them. Take your horror in your hands and look at it. Examine it as a phenomenon. Smell it. Taste it. Come to know it as only you can, for it is yours, and it is precious."

As the shadow beside him spoke, its words became true. From a remote, frozen distance that was at the same time more extravagantly, hotly intimate than he could have ever dreamed, Anakin handled his emotions. He dissected them. He reassembled them and pulled them apart again. He still felt them—if anything, they burned hotter than before—but they no longer had the power to cloud his mind.

"You have found it, my boy: I can feel you there. That cold distance—that mountaintop within yourself—that is the first key to the power of the Sith."

Anakin opened his eyes and turned his gaze fully upon the grotesque features of Darth Sidious.

He didn't even blink.

As he looked upon the mask of corruption, the revulsion he felt was real, and it was powerful, and it was—

Interesting.

Anakin lifted his hand of durasteel and electrodrivers and cupped it, staring into its palm as though he held there the fear that had haunted his dreams for his whole life, and it was no larger than the piece of shuura he'd once stolen from Padme's plate.

On the mountain peak within himself, he weighed Padme's life against the Jedi Order.

It was no contest.

He said, "Yes."

"Yes to what, my boy?"

"Yes I want you knowledge."

"Good. Good!"

"I want your power. I want the power to stop death."

"That power only my Master truly achieved, but together we will find it. The Force is strong with you, my boy. You can do _anything_."

"The Jedi betrayed you," Anakin said. "The Jedi betrayed both of us."

"As you say. Are you ready?"

"I am," he said, and meant it. "I give myself to you. I pledge myself to the ways of the Sith Take me as your apprentice. Teach me. Lead me. Be my Master."

Sidious raised the hood of his robe and draped it to shadow the ruin of his face.

"Kneel before me, Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin dropped to one knee. He lowered his head.

"It is your will to join your destiny forever with the Order of the Sith Lords?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

Darth Sidious laid a pale hand on Anakin's brow. "Then it is done. You are now one with the Order of the Dark Lords of the Sith. From this day forward, the truth of you, my apprentice, now and forevermore, will be Darth…"

A pause; a questioning in the Force—

An answer, dark as the gap between galaxies—

He heard Sidious say it: his new name.

Vader.

A pair of syllables that meant _him._

_Vader_, he said to himself. _Vader_.

"Thank you, my Master."

"Every single Jedi, including your friend Obi-Wan Kenobi, have been revealed as enemies of the Republic now. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, my Master."

"The Jedi are relentless. If they are not destroyed to the last being, there will be civil war without end. To sterilize the Jedi Temple will be your first task. Do what must be done, Lord Vader."

"I always have, my Master."

"Do not hesitate. Show no mercy. Leave no living creature behind. Only then will you be strong enough with the dark side to save Padme."

"What of the other Jedi?"

"Leave them to me. After you have finished at the Temple, your second task will be the Separatist leadership, in their 'secret bunker' on Mustafar. When you have killed them all, the Sith will rule the galaxy once more, and we shall have peace. Forever.

"Rise, Darth Vader."

The Sith Lord who once had been a Jedi hero called Anakin Skywalker stood, drawing himself up to his full height, but he looked not outward upon his new Master, nor upon the planet-city beyond, nor out into the galaxy that they would soon rule. He instead turned his gaze inward: he unlocked the furnace gate within his heart and stepped forth to regard with new eyes the cold freezing dread of the dead-star dragon that had haunted his life.

_I am Darth Vader,_ he said within himself.

The dragon tried again to whisper of failure, and weakness, and inevitable death, but with one hand the Sith Lord caught it, crushed away its voice; it tried to rise then, to coil and rear and strike, but the Sith Lord laid his other hand upon it and broke its power with a single effortless twist.

_I am Darth Vader,_ he repeated as he ground the dragon's corpse to dust beneath his mental heel, as he watch the dragon's dust and ashes scatter before the blast from his furnace heart, _and you—_

_You are nothing at all._

He had become, finally, what they all called him.

The Hero With No Fear.

* * *

Far, far away, through time and space, another man was slowly being figuratively ripped into shreds by the darkness he felt invading his soul.

Screaming, he grasped firmly onto his head, and tried to push away the darkness.

He failed.

Looking up, the green with yellow specks slowly turned more and more completely yellow.

This pain was greater than any he had felt before.

Not even Voldemort's tortures hurt him as bad as this.

Not even Darra's death had caused him this much pain.

Clawing at his chest, he rent his clothing, all the while being beaten down by pouring rain.

Trying to stand up, and get off of his open balcony, he fell again.

Pushing himself up to a kneeling position, the darkness attacked his heart once more. Clawing at his chest, he pushed his head upwards, and screamed.

In his scream, it carried the pains of all of his suffering, all of his sorrow.

His mouth opening wider, screaming louder, a bar of energy seemed to be exiting his body, passing out of his mouth into the sky.

The blue beam slowly faded away, changing to a red color.

The red completely swallowed him, energy pouring into the heavens from his body.

Slowly, the red completely disapparated, leaving a man's broken body, laying still on the balcony.

Revan's ability for Force Bonds was both a gift and a curse.

He had no idea that his bonds with Anakin Skywalker, would carry on into this period of time.

Anakin, through becoming a Sith Lord, created something in Revan that he thought he had forsaken long ago.

* * *

Alek cut through Revan's door with his lightsaber, unable to open it with the Force. He felt Revan's agony, and knew that he had to help his friend.

Looking around, he saw a bright red light coming from outside. Gasping in shock and horror, he realized that there was a _body_ inside of the light. Unable to do anything, Alek could only just stand there, gaping at this horrific sight.

Finally, the light dimmed, and faded away, the molten energy dispersing, and he saw Revan's broken body out in the pouring rain. Alek rushed over to his body, picked him up, and brought him back to his bed. Not knowing what to do, Alek reached out with the Force, attempting to connect with his mind.

What he saw in there both scared him, and fascinated him.

Darkness everywhere, Lightning striking out of what seemed to be nowhere, and there were windows. They were foggy, however. Reaching out to one, he almost touched it when…

…he was forcefully pushed out.

* * *

Revan stood up, yellow eyes blazing, blue lightsaber ignited, ready to attack whoever was in his mind.

Alek backed away, but ignited his lightsaber as well, knowing full-well that he was about to die if he didn't.

Revan gazed at Alek, gave him a crazed, maniac look, and rushed at him with his lightsaber.

Alek tried to defend, but by the time he put his lightsaber to parry, Revan's lightsaber had cut his jaw clean off of his face.

Dropping his lightsaber, Alek dropped to the floor.

Revan, finally coming back to his senses, green returning slightly to his now completely yellow eyes, looked at his friend in shock.

_What have I done?_

Placing Alek under a quick status charm, he brought him to the Jedi Temple infirmary.

Yelling out to one of the Jedi Healers, Revan placed him on one of the tables.

Placing a quick _Obliviate_ on him, he changed the memory of the event, to one of him and Alek practicing and Alek missed the parry during their sparring match.

The Healer came around the curtain right as he finished, and asked him urgently what had happened.

"We were sparring, and I aimed for his head, and he missed it, thinking I would be going somewhere else with my blow, so I cut off his jaw on accident! Please, you have to hurry!"

The Healer stared at him for a split-second, then quickly went to work.

* * *

Revan waited outside for what seemed to be forever.

Finally, after four or five hours, but what seemed to be four or five years, the Healer told him that the procedure was done, and he could come back inside.

Looking at his friend lying there, he looked at his face. There was now a metal plate there in place of his jaw.

Seeing that he was awake, Revan sat next to him.

"I'm sorry…" Revan whispered to him. "I don't know why it happened, or even what happened…"

Alek's eyes showed him that he was smiling, otherwise he wouldn't have known.

"It's okay, Master, it was my fault anyway for not blocking properly. I was acting like a foolish Padawan who had no lightsaber training."

Revan smiled back, but inwardly shuttered. Replacing Alek's normally cheerful voice, there was an electronic buzz added to it now.

And Revan was ashamed to say that he was the one who caused it.

Alek sat up, and placed his hand on Revan's shoulder. "I know you would never harm me on purpose. You're forgiven."

Revan stared at him for a moment, then stood up, walked towards the door. He was in the doorway when he turned back to Alek who was watching his retreating back, and called to him.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness."

* * *

A/N: Chapter Three is complete! Thanks to all of you who have stuck through Fate of a Wizard, and stuck through this story up until this point. I hope you stick through until the end! Anyways, Review, and please don't flame. I'm not perfect, and again, I'm just going through a general guideline that I found on Wookiepedia. Thanks again everyone!

Beggs


	4. Order SixtySix

A/N: Hey! Chapter 4 is now online! Thanks for the reviews guys, keep 'em coming! The reviews have had interesting points, such as the thing about Vaapad, and Mace Windu not existed 4000 years in the past. I would just like to clarify, I realize that I wasn't very clear with details in Fate of a Wizard, but in the chapter where Harry asks Yoda to help train him in the ways of the Jedi, Mace had helped with his training. I'll be sure to include a small flashback in this chapter to make up for that. I'm sorry! Trying to stick with the KOTOR thing, but I don't have the game, or read the comics, and am just using what Wookiepedia tells me. Special thanks to Robo Raver, who is pretty much my beta reader, telling me what he likes, and what he doesn't. Thanks!

Anyways, Enjoy Chapter Four!

* * *

_**I am Darth Vader**__,__ he said within himself._

_The dragon tried again to whisper of failure, and weakness, and inevitable death, but with one hand the Sith Lord caught it, crushed away its voice; it tried to rise then, to coil and rear and strike, but the Sith Lord laid his other hand upon it and broke its power with a single effortless twist._

_**I am Darth Vader**__,__ he repeated as he ground the dragon's corpse to dust beneath his mental heel, as he watch the dragon's dust and ashes scatter before the blast from his furnace heart, __**and you—**_

_**You are nothing at all.**_

_He had become, finally, what they all called him._

_The Hero With No Fear._

* * *

"_I'm __**sorry**__…" Revan whispered to him. "I don't know why it happened, or even what happened…"_

_Alek's eyes showed him that he was smiling, otherwise he wouldn't have known._

"_It's okay, Master, it was __**my**__ fault anyway for not blocking properly. I was acting like a foolish Padawan who had no lightsaber training."_

_Revan smiled back, but inwardly shuttered. Replacing Alek's normally cheerful voice, there was an electronic buzz added to it now._

_And Revan was ashamed to say that he was the one who caused it._

_Alek sat up, and placed his hand on Revan's shoulder. "I know you would never harm me on __**purpose**__. You're forgiven."_

_Revan stared at him for a moment, then stood up, walked towards the door. He was in the doorway when he turned back to Alek who was watching his retreating back, and called to him._

"_I don't deserve your forgiveness."_

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

**Order Sixty-Six**

* * *

Gate Master Jurokk sprinted through the empty vaulted hallway, clattering echoes of his footsteps making him sound like a platoon. The main doors of the Temple were slowly swinging inward in answer to the code key punched into the outside lockpad.

The Gate Master had seen him on the monitor.

Anakin Skywalker.

Alone.

The huge doors creaked inward; as soon as they were wide enough for the Gate Master to pass, he slipped through.

Anakin stood in the night outside, shoulders hunched, head down against the rain.

"Anakin!" he gasped, running up to the young man. "Anakin, what happened? Where are the Masters?"

Anakin looked at him as though he wasn't sure who the Gate Master was. "Where is Shaak Ti?"

"In the meditation chambers—we felt something happen in the Force, something awful. She's searching the Force in deep meditation, trying to get some feel for what's going on…"

His words trailed away. Anakin didn't seem to be listening.

"Something _has_ happened, hasn't it?"

Jurokk looked past him now. The night beyond the Temple was full of clones. Battalions of them. Brigades.

Thousands.

"Anakin," he said slowly. "What's going on? Something's happened. Something horrible. How bad _is_ it—?"

The last thing Jurokk felt was the emitter of a lightsaber against the soft flesh beneath his jaw; the last thing he heard, as blue plasma chewed upward through his head and burst from the top of his skull and burned away his life, was Anakin Skywalker's melancholy reply.

"You have no idea…"

* * *

Pau City was a cauldron of battle.

From his observation post just off the landing ramp of the command lander on the tenth level, Clone Commander Cody swept the sinkhole with his electrobinoculars. The droid-control center lay in ruins only a few meters away, but the Separatists had learned the lesson of Naboo; their next-generation combat droids were equipped with sophisticated self-motivators that kicked in automatically when control signals were cut off, delivering a program of standing orders.

Standing Order Number One was, apparently, Kill Everything That Moves.

And they were doing a good job of it, too.

Half the city was rubble, and the rest was a firestorm of droids and clones and Utapaun dragon cavalry, and just when Commander Cody was thinking how he really whished they had a Jedi or two around right now, several metric tons of dragonmount hurtled from the sky and hit the roof of the command lander hard enough to buckle the deck beneath it.

Not that it did the ship any harm; _Jadthu_-class landers are basically flying bunkers, and this particular one was triple-armored and equipped with internal shock buffers and inertial dampeners powerful enough for a fleet corvette, to protect the sophisticated command-and-control equipment inside.

Cody looked up at the dragonmount, and at its rider. "General Kenobi," he said. "Glad you could join us."

"Commander Cody," the Jedi Master said with a nod. He was still scanning the battle around them. "Did you contact Coruscant with the news of the general's death?"

The clone commander snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute. "As ordered, sir. Erm, sir?"

Kenobi looked down at him.

"Are you alright, sir? You're a bit of a mess."

The Jedi Master wiped away some of the dust and gore that smeared his face with the sleeve of his robe—which was charred, and only left a blacker smear across his cheek. "Ah. Well, yes. It has been a… stressful day." He waved out at Pau City. "But we still have a battle to win."

"Then I suppose you'll be wanting this," Cody said, holding up the lightsaber his men had recovered from a traffic tunnel. "I believe you dropped it, sir."

"Ah. Ah, yes."

The weapon floated gently up to Kenobi's hand, and when he smiled down at the clone commander again, Cody could swear the Jedi Master was blushing, just a bit. "No, ah, need to mention this to, erm, Anakin, is there, Cody?"

Cody grinned. "Is that an order, sir?"

Kenobi shook his head, chuckling tiredly. "Let's go. You'll have noticed I _did_ manage to leave a few droids for you…"

"Yes, sir." A silent buzzing vibration came from a compartment concealed within his armor. Cody frowned. "Go on ahead, General. We'll be right behind you."

That concealed compartment held a secure comlink, which was frequency-locked to a channel reserved for the commander in chief.

Kenobi nodded and spoke to his mount, and the great beast overleapt the clone commander on its way down into the battle.

Cody withdrew the comlink from his armor and triggered it.

A holoscan appeared on the palm of his gauntlet: a hooded man.

"_It is time,"_ the holoscan said. "_Execute Order Sixty-Six."_

Cody responded as he had been trained since before he'd even awakened in his creche-school. "It will be done, my lord."

The holoscan vanished. Cody stuck the comlink back into its concealed recess and frowned down back toward where Kenobi rode his dragonmount into selflessly heroic battle.

Cody was a clone. He would execute the order faithfully, without hesitation or regret. But he was also human enough to mutter glumly, "Would it have been too much to as for the order to have come through _before_ I gave him back the bloody _lightsaber_…?"

* * *

The order is given once. Its wave-front spreads to clone commanders on Kashyyyk and Felucia, Mygeeto and Tellanroaeg and every battlefront, every military installation, every hospital and rehab center and spaceport cantina in the galaxy.

Except for Coruscant.

On Coruscant, Order Sixty-Six is already being executed.

* * *

Alek walked silently through the wrecked Tarisian halls of the Jedi Tower, or the Tarisian Jedi Temple. He was looking for some kind of sign of why the Force brought him here. Not knowing really what to expect, he entered into the Jedi Council Chamber. Finding five of the twelve Jedi Masters still in the chamber, his gaze fell upon the face of Lucien Draay, a renowned Jedi Master, hailing from Coruscant.

Lucien had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was a very tall man.

Noticing that he had another lightsaber clipped to his belt, Alek was weary. There was something strange going on here on Taris.

Lucien cleared his throat, and his cold, blue gaze met Alek's light, twinkling blue. "You there, what are you doing here?"

Alek was slightly stunned by the ferociousness that was in his voice, but quickly shook it off. His blue eyes lessening their twinkle, he frowned. Or, would have, if it weren't for the fact that he had a metal prosthetic in place of his jaw. "My Master sent me on a mission to recruit for an army to raise against the Mandalorians. An army of mostly Jedi and Force-sensitives."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Your Master _sent_ you? Who is your Master?"

Alek raised an arched eyebrow to match Lucien's. "The one who will save us from the rising threat of the Mandalorians, of course, Master Draay. The 'Revanchist'."

Lucien gaped at him, and stared.

Alek matched his gaze, and finally, Lucien turned away.

"If you would, would you please fetch me my Padawan learner, Zayne Carrick? I understand you must be very busy, however, I recently acquired an injury that has reached into our bond as well. I cannot contact him through it anymore, and it is hard for me to get around."

Alek looked at him in shock, and his eyes seemed to search Lucien's.

"I will do this thing for you, however, do not lie to me ever again. Understand, Master Lucien?"

"What could you possibly mean? I have not lied—"

"Goodbye Master Draay, and may the Force be with you."

Alek turned away from the Jedi Covenant, and walked out into the hall. Lucien called after him. "Just follow the trail of debris!"

Reaching through the Force, Alek searched for a presence that seemed to echo Lucien's. Finding it, and following it, he came to a stop outside Zayne's room.

Knocking, he smiled inwardly. _This'll be good…_

* * *

Zayne Carrick wasn't having a good day. He had already disappointed his Master during their sparring match that day, and he still had his mission to capture and arrest Marn Hierogryph.

Things didn't seem to be looking up. Just as he was about to open the door, there was knocking. _Who could that be?_

Alek looked at Zayne, and studied his face, and his profile.

Zayne had long brown hair that reached his shoulders, and brown, chocolate eyes that would make the most hardened of hearts soften. Lightsaber clipped to his belt, when ignited, had a plasma bar of yellow energy. He was wearing a tan tunic, and a brown vest, with billowy robes that hid his hands, as well as a large hood.

"You're Zayne Carrick, right? Your Master sent me to look for you. He said to follow the trail of debris." Alek said calmly to him.

"What does my Master want now?" Zayne asked, seemingly a little intimidated.

"Our master's an acquaintance of your Master Lucien. We were hoping to recruit some Jedi to come with us."

"Recruit some Jedi? Recruit for what?"

"For our group of course. We are called The Revanchists. We are a group of mostly Jedi, who are devoted to stop the Mandalorian threat at all costs. My Master, Knight Revan, has asked for me to come and recruit Jedi for our cause. I would like you to think about it, at the very least. Does that sound okay?" Alek said all of this calmly, in a soft, persuading voice.

"I'll… I'll think about it. My Master doesn't think I'll be ready to be a Jedi Knight any time soon…"

Alek leaned in towards him. "Your Master doesn't know your true potential, Zayne Carrick. My Master though, would help you reach it. You can and _will_ be someone great someday."

Zayne stood there in complete shock. This complete and total stranger had told him that he was worth something. That was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him, and meant it.

"How do you go about fighting the Mandalorians," Zayne asked, "When they have so much more in number and in strength?"

"We'll go to the front – and _beyond_ it, if it'll save the galaxy. Sometimes you have to enter the darkness to save the light."

Zayne gaped at him for a moment, and then asked him a very simple question. "What is your name?"

Alek merely smiled at him, and said, "You can call me Squint."

* * *

Dawn crept across Galactic City. Fingers of morning brought a rose-colored glow to the wind-smeared upper reach of a vast twisting cone of smoke.

Bail Organa was a man not given to profanity, but when he caught a glimpse of the source of that smoke from the pilot's chair of his speeder, the curse it brought to his lips would have made a Corellian dockhand blush.

He stabbed a code that canceled his speeder's programmed route toward the Senate Office Building, then grabbed the yoke and kicked the craft into a twisting dive that shot him through half a dozen crisscrossing streams of air traffic.

He triggered his speeder's comm. "Antilles!"

The answer from the captain of his personal crew was instant.

"_Yes, my lord?"_

"Route an alert to SER," he ordered. "The Jedi Temple is on fire!"

"_Yes, sir. We know. Senate Emergency Response has announced a state of martial law, and the Temple is under lockdown. There's been some kind of Jedi rebellion."_

"What are you talking about? That's impossible. Why aren't there fireships onstation?"

"_I don't have any details, my lord; we only know what SER is telling us."_

"Look, I'm right on top of it. I'm going down there to find out what's happening."

"_My lord, I wouldn't recommend it—"_

"I won't take any chances." Bail hauled the control yoke to slew the speeder toward the broad landing deck on the roof of the Temple ziggurat. "Speaking of not taking chances, Captain: order the duty crew onto the _Tantive_ and get her engines warm. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"_Sir?"_

"Just do it."

Bail set the speeder down only a few meters from the deck entrance and hopped out. A squad of clone troopers stood in the open doorway. Smoke billowed out from the hallway behind them.

One of the troopers lifted a hand as Bail approached. "Don't worry, sir, everything is under control here."

"Under control? Where are the SER teams? What is the _army_ doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I can't talk about that, sir."

"Has there been some kind of attack on the Temple?"

"I'm sorry, I can't talk about that, sir."

"Listen to me, Sergeant, I am a Senator of the Galactic Republic," Bail said, improvising, "and I am late for a meeting with the Jedi Council—"

"The Jedi Council is not in session, sir."

"Maybe you should let me see for myself."

The four clones moved together to block his path. "I'm sorry, sir. Entry is forbidden."

"I am a _Senator—_"

"Yes, sir." The clone sergeant snapped his DC-15 to his shoulder, and Bail, blinking, found himself staring into its blackened muzzle from close enough to kiss it. "And it is time for you to leave, sir."

"When you put it that way…" Bail backed off, lifting his hands. "Yes, all right, I'm going."

A burst of blasterfire ripped through the smoke and scattered into the dawn outside. Bail stared with an open mouth as a Jedi flashed out of nowhere and started cutting down clones. No: not a Jedi.

A boy.

A child, no more than ten years old, swinging a lightsaber whose blade was almost as long as he was tall. More blasterfire came from inside, and a whole platoon of clones came pelting toward the landing deck, and the ten-year-old was hit, and hit again, and then just shot to rags among the bodies of the troopers he'd killed, and Bail started backing away, faster now, and in the middle of it all, a clone wearing the colors of a commander came out of the smoke and pointed at Bail Organa.

"No witnesses," the commander said. "Kill him."

Bail ran.

He dived through a hail of blasterfire, hit the deck, and rolled under his speeder to the opposite side. He grabbed on to its pilot's-side door and swung his leg onto a tail fin, using the vehicle's body as cover while he stabbed the keys to reinitialize its autorouter. Clones charged toward him, firing as they came.

His speeder heeled over and blasted away.

Bail pulled himself inside as the speeder curved up into the congested traffic lanes. He was white as flimsiplast, and his hands were shaking so badly he could barely activate his comm.

"Antilles! Organa to Antilles. Com in, Captain!"

"_Antilles here, my lord."_

"It's worse than I thought. Far worse than you've heard. Send someone to Chancellor Palp—no, strike that. Go yourself. Take five men and go to the spaceport. I know at least one Jedi ship is on the ground there; Saesee Tiin brought in _Sharp Spiral_ late last night. I need you to steal his homing beacon."

"_What? His beacon? Why?"_

"No time to explain. Get the beacon and meet me at the _Tantive_. We're leaving the planet."

He stared back at the vast column of smoke that boiled from the Jedi Temple.

"While we still can."

* * *

Order Sixty-Six is the climax of the Clone Wars.

Not the end—the Clone Wars will end some few hours from now, when a coded signal, sent by Nute Gunray from the secret Separatist bunker on Mustafar, deactivates every combat droid in the galaxy at once—but the climax.

It's not a thrilling climax; it's not the culmination of an epic struggle. Just the opposite, in fact. The Clone Wars were never an epic struggle. They were never intended to be.

What is happening right now is why the Clone Wars were fought in the first place. It is their reason for existence. The Clone Wars have always been, in and of themselves, from their very inception, the revenge of the Sith.

They were irresistible bait. They took place in remote locations, on planets that belonged, primarily, to "someone else." They were fought by expendable proxies. And they were contructed as a win-win situation.

The Clone Wars were the perfect Jedi trap.

By fighting at all, the Jedi lost.

With the Jedi Order overextended, spread thin across the galaxy, each Jedi is alone, surrounded only by whatever clone troops he, she, or it commands. War itself pours darkness into the Force, deepening the cloud that limits Jedi perception. And the clones have no malice, no hatred, not the slightest ill intent that might give warning. They are only following orders.

In this case, Order Sixty-Six.

Hold-out blasters appear in clone hands. ARC-170's drop back onto the tails of Jedi starfighters. AT-STs swivel their guns. Turrets on hovertanks swung silently.

Clones open fire, and Jedi die.

All across the galaxy. All at once.

Jedi die.

* * *

Kenobi never saw it coming.

Cody had coordinated the heavy-weapons operators from five different companies spread over an arc of three different levels of the sinkhole-city. He'd served under Kenobi in more than a dozen operations since the beginning of the Outer Rim sieges, and he had a very clear and unsentimental estimate of just how hard to kill the unassuming Jedi Master was. He wasn't taking any chances.

He raised his comlink. "Execute."

On that order, T-21 muzzles swung, shoulder-fired trops locked on, and proton grenade launchers angled to precisely calibrated elevations.

"Fire."

They did.

Kenobi, his dragonmount, and all five of the destroyer droids he'd been fighting vanished in a fireball that for an instant outshone Utapau's sun.

Visual polarizers in Cody's helmet cut the glare by 78 percent; his vision clear in plenty of time to see shred of dragonmount and twisted hunks of droid raining into the ocean mouth at the bottom of the sink hole.

Cody scowled and keyed his comlink. "Looks like the lizard took the worst of it. Deploy the seekers. All of them."

He stared down into the boil of the ocean mouth.

"I want to see the body."

* * *

C-3PO paused in the midst of dusting the Tarka-Null original on its display pedestal near his mistress's bedroom view wall, and used the electrostatic tissue to briefly polish his own photoreceptors. The astromech in the green Jedi starfighter docking with the veranda below—could that be R2-D2?

Well, this should be interesting.

Senator Amidala had spent the better part of these predawn hours simply staring over the city, toward the plume of smoke that rose from the Jedi Temple; now, at last, she might get some answers.

He might, too. R2-D2 was far from the sort of sparkling conversationalist with whom C-3PO preferred to associate, but the little astromech had a positive gift for jacking himself into the motherboards of the most volatile situations…

The cockpit popped open, and inevitably, the Jedi within was revealed to be Anakin Sky walker. In watching Master Anakin climb down from the starfighter's cockpit, 3PO's photoreceptors captured data that unexpectedly activated his threat-aversion subroutines. "On," he said faintly, cluthing at his power core. "Oh, I don't like the looks of _this_ at all…"

He dropped the electrostatic tissue and shuffled as quickly as he could to the bedroom door. "My lady," he called to Senator Amidala, where she stood by the broad window. "On the veranda. A Jedi starfighter," he forced out. "Has docked, my lady."

She blinked, then rushed toward the bedroom door.

C-3PO shuffled along behind her and slipped out through the open door, making a wide circle around the humans who were engaged in one of those inexplicable embraces they seemed so fond of.

Reaching the starfighter, he said, "Artoo, are you all right? What is going on?"

The astromech squeaked and beeped; C-3PO's autotranslator interpreted: NOBODY TELLS ME ANYTHING.

"Of course not. You don't keep up your end of the conversation."

A whirring squeal: SOMETHING'S WRONG. THE FACTORS DON'T BALANCE.

"You can't possibly be more confused than I am."

YOU'RE RIGHT. _NOBODY_ CAN BE MORE CONFUSED THAN YOU ARE.

"Oh, very funny. Hush now—what was that?"

The Senator was sitting now, leaning distractedly on one of the tasteful, elegant bistro tables that dotted the veranda, while Master Anakin stood above her. "I think—he's saying something about a _rebellion_—that the Jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic! And—oh, my goodness. Mace Windu has tried to assassinate Chancellor Palpatine! Can he be _serious_?"

I DON'T KNOW. ANAKIN DOESN'T TALK TO ME ANYMORE.

C-3PO shook his cranial assembly helplessly. "How can Master Windu be an assassin? He has such impeccable manners."

LIKE I TOLD YOU: THE FACTORS DON'T ADD UP.

"I've been hearing the most awful rumors—they're saying the government is going to _banish_ us—banish _droids_, can you imagine?"

DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU HEAR.

"Shh. Not so loud!"

I'M ONLY SAYING THAT WE DON'T KNOW THE TRUTH.

"Of course we don't." C-3PO sighed. "And we likely never will."

* * *

"What about Obi-Wan?"

She looked stricken. Pale and terrified.

It made him love her more.

He shook his head. "Many of the Jedi have been killed."

"But…" She stared out at the rivers of traffic crosshatching the sky. "Are you _sure_? It seems so… _unbelievable_…"

"I was there, Padme. It's all true."

"But… but how could _Obi-Wan_ be involved in something like that?"

He said, "We may never know."

"Outlawed…," she murmured. "What happens now?"

"All Jedi are required to surrender themselves immediately," he said. "Those who resist… are being dealt with."

"Anakin—they're your _family_—"

"They're traitors. _You're_ my family. You and the baby."

"How can _all_ of them be traitors—?"

"They're not the only ones. There were Senators in this as well."

Now, finally, she looked at him, and fear shone from her eyes.

He smiled.

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

"To _me?_"

"You need to distance yourself from your… friends… in the Senate, Padme. It's very important to avoid even the appearance of disloyalty."

"Anakin—you sound like you're _threatening_ me—"

"This is a dangerous time," he said. "We are all judged by the company we keep."

"But—I've opposed war, I opposed Palpatine's emergency powers—I publicly called him a _threat to democracy!_"

"That's all behind us now."

"_What_ is? What I've done? Or democracy?"

"Padme—"

Her chin came up, and her eyes hardened. "Am I under suspicion?"

"Palpatine and I have discussed you already. You're in the clear, so long as you avoid… inappropriate associations."

"How am I _in the clear?_"

"Because you're with _me_. Because I _say_ you are."

She stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. "You told him."

"He knew."

"Anakin—"

"There's no more need for secrets, Padme. Don't you see? _I'm not a Jedi anymore._ There _aren't_ any Jedi. There's just _me._"

He reached for her hand. She let him take it. "And you, and our child."

"Then we can _go_, can't we?" Her hard stare melted to naked appeal. "We can leave this planet. Go somewhere we can be _together_—somewhere _safe_."

"We'll be together _here_," he said. "You _are_ safe. I have _made_ you safe."

"Safe," she echoed bitterly, pulling her hand away. "As long as Palpatine doesn't change his mind."

The hand she had pulled from his grasp was trembling.

"The Separatist leadership is hiding on Mustafar. I'm on my way to deal with them right now."

"_Deal_ with them?" The corners of her mouth drew down. "Like the Jedi are being _dealt with_?"

"This is an important mission. I'm going to end the war."

She looked away. "You're going alone?"

"Have faith, my love," he said.

She shook her head helplessly, and a pair of tears spilled from her eyes. He touched them with his mechanical hand; the fingertips of his black glove glistened in the dawn.

Two liquid gems, indescribably precious—because they were _his_. He had earned them. As he had earned _her_; as he had earned the child she bore.

He had paid for them with innocent blood.

"I love you," he said. "This won't take long. Wait for me."

Fresh tears streamed onto her ivory cheeks, and she threw herself into his arms. "Always, Anakin. Forever. Come back to me, my love—my _life_. Come back to me."

He smiled down on her. "You say that like I'm already gone."

* * *

Icy salt water shocked Obi-Wan back to full consciousness. He hung in absolute blackness; there was no telling how far under water he might be, nor even which direction might be up. His lungs were chocked, half full of water, but he didn't panic or even particularly worry; mostly, he was vaguely pleased to discover that even in his semiconscious fall, he'd managed to hang on to his lightsaber.

He clipped it back to his belt by feel, and—using only a minor exercise of Jedi discipline to suppress convulsive coughing—he contracted his diaphragm, forcing as much water from his lungs as he could. He took from his equipment belt his rebreather, and a small compressed-air canister intended for use in an emergency, when the breathable environment was not adequate to sustain his life.

Obi-Wan was fairly certain that his current situation qualified as an emergency.

He remembered…

Boga's wrenching leap, twisting in the air, the shock of impacts, multiple detonations blasting both of them father and farther out from the sinkhole's wall…

Using her massive body to shield Obi-Wan from his own troops.

Boga had _known_, somehow… the dragonmount had known what Obi-Wan had been incapable of even suspecting, and without hesitation she'd given her life to save her rider.

_I suppose that makes me more than her rider,_ Obi-Wan thought as he discarded the canister and got his rebreather snugged into place. _I suppose that makes me her friend._

_It certainly made her mine._

He let grief take him for a moment; grief not for the death of a noble beast, but for how little time Obi-Wan had had to appreciate the gift of his friend's service.

But even grief is an attachment, and Obi-Wan let it flow out of his life.

_Good-bye, my friend._

He didn't try to swim; he seemed to be hanging motionless, suspended in infinite night. He relaxed, regulated his breathing, and let the water take him whither it would.

* * *

Gazing out over the somewhat primitive Galactic City, Revan was still pleased to see that most of his favorite buildings were still there.

Perhaps they were a little shorter than he remembered, but with time travel, what could one do?

Relaxing into his meditative position on his balcony, he watched as Coruscant's sun began to rise over the horizon. Melting into his memories, closing his eyes, he reflected on when he had first learned the art of Vaapad, which was a more complete version of this time period's Juyo.

* * *

_Flashback_

_Harry answered, "I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me about the light side of the Force?"_

"_Need a lightsaber, you do," Yoda said. Then he spied the light staff on Harry's belt. "One you already have, I see." Yoda said smartly. "Start then, we shall."_

_Harry nodded, waited for Yoda to continue. "Lightsaber techniques, start on first we shall." Yoda said._

"_Six there were for generations of Jedi." Yoda continued. "The seventh, is not well-known. Powerful form it is. Deadliest of all. But dangerous it is, for its master as well as its opponent. Few have studied. One student alone, to mastery has risen._"

"_It is also not meant for any Jedi without my approval._" _Mace Windu said, stepping out of the shadows._

"_What form is it?" Harry asked, in a respectful manner._

"_The Seventh form of Lightsaber combat, is of my own creation."Mace Windu said with a serious voice. "Vaapad."_

"_Vaapad? Do you think I could start on learning that one?" Harry asked eagerly._

"_Potter, you must understand, this is a very dangerous technique, and I'm not sure you can handle it," Mace Windu said._

"_But—"_

"_Fight me, Potter."_

"_What?" Harry said, genuinely confused._

"_Fight me. If you can beat me in a sparring match, I will begin to instruct you in the ways of Vaapad." Mace said, face clean of emotion._

"_Thank you! I __**know**__—"_

_Interrupting, Mace continued. "Turn your lightsaber frequency down, so that if we land a hit on the body, we will feel a sharp stinging sensation, instead of having a limb cut off."_

_Harry nodded, twisting the knob on his black lightsaber. "Done, sir."_

"_Very good. Are you ready, Potter?" Mace asked._

"_Very much so, sir."_

"_Then let's begin."_

_The Jedi Master already had his lightsaber out, the blade activated, the weapon held before him in two hands. _

_Harry carried a lightsaber of another make, and the weapon was cutting at the Jedi Master even before he had begun to make a move. _

_Mace Windu, surprised by the other's quickness and ferocity, barely blocked the blow with his own weapon, the blades sliding apart with a harsh rasp. Harry spun away in a whirl of dark clothing, then attacked anew, lightsaber slashing at his intended prey, face alight with a happiness that Mace had seen no time previous._

_The Jedi Master blocked him again and again, but could not find an opening that would provide any chance of escape._

_Hammering at Harry with renewed determination, Mace Windu began to smile._

_Mace Windu attacked at once, rushing the other man, closing with him at the edge of the training room. _

_Mace stepped back, leveled his lightsaber, and swung a powerful, two-handed blow at his attacker. _

_Harry blocked it, but only barely, and in the process lost his balance completely. The blow's force swept him away. He dropped back toward the training room's floor, landed in a crouch, and rose instantly to his feet._

_Harry then stripped away his cloak, and lifted the long-handled lightsaber he bore as if offering it for inspection. Gleaming black fire jutted from the other end of the lightsaber as well, revealing a deadly, dual-blade weapon. A smile crossed Harry's face as he swung the weapon before him in an idle casual gesture, beckoning Mace Windu ahead._

_Spreading out to the side, Mace Windu slowly advanced to meet him._

* * *

_Mace Windu was one of the most able swordsmen in the Jedi Order. The Jedi Master he had trained under had considered him one of the best the Master had taught in his more than four hundred years in the order. Mace Windu had fought in conflicts all across the galaxy in the span of his life and against odds so great that many others would not have stood a chance. He had survived battles that had tested his skill and resolve in every conceivable way._

_But on this day, he had met his match. Harry was more than his equal in weapons training (somehow), and he had the advantage of being younger and stronger. Mace Windu was nearing fifty; his youth was behind him and his strength was beginning to diminish. His edge now, to the extent that he had one, came from his long experience and intuitive grasp of how an adversary might employ a lightsaber against him._

_Harry had no fear for himself, no doubt that he would win. He was focused in a way that Mace Windu recognized at once—a Jedi's focus, mindful of the present, locked in on what was needed in the here and now. Mace saw it in his green eyes and in the set of his facial features. Harry was a living example of how Padawans were taught how to best hear the will of the Force._

_Lightsaber clutched in both hands, he blocked and parried every blow that Harry threw at him, steadily becoming weaker and weaker. He could only watch and pray that he could hold on._

_It appeared that Mace Windu would. He had found a fresh reserve of strength, and now he was attacking with a ferocity that seemed to have Harry stymied. With quick, hard strokes of his lightsaber, he bored into his adversary, deliberately engaging in close-quarters combat, refusing to let the other bring his double-bladed weapon to bear. He drove Harry backward about the floor of the room, keeping Harry constantly on the defensive, pressing in on him steadily. Mace Windu might no longer be young, but he was still powerful. Harry's face took on a frenzied look, and the glitter of his green eyes brightened with uncertainty._

_Then Harry back-flipped across the room, giving himself some space in which to recover, gaining just enough time to assume a new battle stance. Mace Windu was on him in an instant, covering the distance separating them in a rush, hammering into Harry anew. But he was beginning to weary now. His strokes were not so vigorous as before, his face bathed with sweat and taut with fatigue._

_Slowly, Harry began to edge his way back into the fight, becoming the aggressor once more._

_Stroke for stroke, Mace Windu and Harry battled about the rim of the room, locked in a combat that seemed endless and forever and could be won by neither._

_Then Harry parried a downstroke, whirled swiftly to the right, and with his back to the Jedi Master, made a blind, reverse lunge. Too late, Mace Windu recognized the danger. The blade of Harry's lightsaber caught him directly in the midsection, its brilliant length burning through clothing and stinging flesh._

_Turning off his lightsaber, Mace Windu smiled._

"_I suppose you've proven your worth. I'll teach you the ways of Vaapad, Potter. But, you __**must**__ promise to practice, but only under the watchful eye of a Master. Is that clear?"_

"_Crystal, sir." Harry responded._

"_Good to hear it. Shall we begin?"_

_End Flashback_

* * *

Revan opened his eyes and stood from his sitting position on the floor. Today was a new day, and this was the day he would begin the true effort against the Mandalorians. There was no more room for horseplay.

Only room for serious business.

* * *

A/N: Chapter Four is done! Thanks again to Robo Raver for pretty much becoming my beta, and also, again thanks to AegnorFellFire for that wonderful wonderful resource they gave me, called Wookiepedia. Thank you to my reviewers, and I hope you stick with me and this story! Read and Review, but no flames please!

Beggs


	5. Pain of War's End

A/N: It's been almost a month now, and my creativity streak's been going up and down. I apologize for such a long wait, and I know that this chapter doesn't do your waiting justice… so I apologize yet again. Thanks for all of the reviews in the past month, I super appreciate them!

Also, I was thinking, and I realized, "Hey, what would time have been called before it was called BBY and ABY (Before the Battle of Yavin, and After the Battle of Yavin). After all, back in the Mandalorian Wars, they certainly wouldn't have been like 'It's 3,961 BBY, why do you ask?'! So I've decided to create a time frame, based on the birth of the Old Republic, which was 25,000 BBY. So, that'll be year 0. Understand? So all the years are inversed. Instead of it being 3,961 BBY, it'll be 21,039 ABR (After the Birth of the Republic). Okay thanks guys!

* * *

Time for the 2nd disclaimer of the story, and hopefully the last!

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter, or Star Wars, except a few Characters here and there, plus the plot line is written how I see fit. I appreciate the works of Matthew Stover, J.K. Rowling, and George Lucas respectively.

On with the chapter!

* * *

_Fresh tears streamed onto her ivory cheeks, and she threw herself into his arms. "Always, Anakin. Forever. Come back to me, my love—my __**life**__. Come back to me."_

_He smiled down on her. "You say that like I'm already gone."_

* * *

_But even grief is an attachment, and Obi-Wan let it flow out of his life._

_**Good-bye, my friend.**_

_He didn't try to swim; he seemed to be hanging motionless, suspended in infinite night. He relaxed, regulated his breathing, and let the water take him whither it would._

* * *

_Revan opened his eyes and stood from his sitting position on the floor. Today was a new day, and this was the day he would begin the true effort against the Mandalorians. There was no more room for horseplay._

_Only room for serious business._

* * *

**Chapter Five:  
Pain of War's End**

* * *

Brisk footsteps resounded sharply in the hallway leading to Alek's quarters aboard the flagship. Footsteps stopping just outside of the room, Alek lay awake in his room, lightsaber in his hand, ready to fight for his life if necessary. The war had affected him in more ways than one, and it seemed as if there would be no end to the fighting. In the previous years, Alek had been on several diplomatic missions, mostly to Jedi, trying to recruit to the cause of the Revanchists. Sometimes, the Jedi didn't want to join, and decided to get violent, forcing Alek to incapacitate them, or even kill them. It wasn't something he enjoyed doing.

He remembered a slightly older man who had tried to kill him, as Alek had been unaware of his alliances with the Mandalorians. Revan was there as well, but was content to allow Alek to deal with the traitor. It wasn't truly challenging for Alek, as he had improved since he had last had a run-in with the nameless Jedi Master, and wasn't about to lose.

* * *

_Flashback_

_Something unlocked in his chest. The thunder in his ears dissolved into red smoke that coiled at the base of his spine. His lightsaber found his hand, and his lips peeled off his teeth in a smile that a krayt dragon would have recognized._

_That trouble he was having with talking went away._

"_This," he murmured to Revan, and to himself, "is not a problem."_

_The voice that spoke from the entrance balcony was an elegant basso with undernotes of oily resonance like a kriin-oak cavernhorn._

_The Jedi Master's voice._

"_General Revan. Alek __Squinquargesimus. Gentlemen—a term I use in its loosest possible sense—you are my prisoners."_

_Now Alek didn't have any troubles at all._

_The ship shuddered and the red smoke surged from Alek's spine into his arms and legs and head and when the Jedi Master gave the slightest glance of concern over his shoulder, distracted for half an instant, Alek couldn't wait anymore._

_He sprang, lightsaber angled for the kill._

_Alek looked up just in time to glimpse the bottom of the Jedi's rancor-leather boot as it came down on his face and smacked him tumbling toward the floor; he reached into the Force to effortlessly right himself and touched down in perfect balance to spring again toward the lighting flare of emerald green, that sprayed itself as if it were a fan of emerald flame, as the Jedi pressed Alek away with a succession of weaving, flourishing thrusts that drove Alek's blade out of line while they reached for his heart._

_Alek launched himself at the Jedi's back—and the Jedi half turned, gesturing casually while holding his lightsaber in a battle-ready stance with a one-handed bind. Chairs leapt up from the situation table and whirled toward Alek's head. He slashed the first one in half contemptuously, but the second caught him across the knees, and the third battered his shoulder and knocked him down._

_He snarled to himself and reached through the Force to pick up some chairs of his own—and the situation table itself slammed into him and drove him back to crush him against the wall. His lightsaber came loose from his slackening fingers and clattered across the tabletop to drop to the floor on the far side._

_And the Jedi Master barely even seemed to be paying attention to him._

_Pinned, breathless, half stunned, Alek thought, __**If this keeps up, I am going to get mad.**_

_The Jedi Master just laughed. "My, my," he said, chuckling. "The boy has some power after all."_

_His backroll brought him to his feet directly in front of Alek, who was charging, headlong and unarmed, after the table he had tossed, and was already thoroughly red in the face._

"_I'm __**twice**__ the Jedi I was last time!"_

_The Jedi Master just laughed at him again, obviously unbelieving._

_The grip of Alek's blade whistled through the air to meet his hand in perfect synchrony with a sweeping slash. "My powers have __**doubled**__ since we last met—"_

"_How lovely for you." The Jedi Master neatly sidestepped, cutting at Alek's leg, yet Alek's blade met the cut as he passed and he managed to sweep his blade behind his head to slap aside the casual thrust the Jedi Master aimed at the back of his neck—but his clumsy charge had put him in Revan's path. So that Revan had to ignite his own lightsaber and jump over Alek._

_Directly at the Jedi Master's upraised blade._

_Revan drove a slash at the emerald blade while he pivoted in the air, and again the Jedi Master sidestepped so that now it was Revan in Alek's way. Scowling, Revan jumped away from the Master, and sat down. "Don't involve me unless you absolutely need me, Squint," Revan said a little irritably._

_Alek ignored him, as he was deeply into the fight._

_Alek drew the Master's strikes to his parries, and drove his own ripostes with thrusts of dark power that subtly altered the Jedi's balance and disrupted their timing. He could have slaughtered him as casually as Revan had destroyed the man known as Dooku._

_However, only one death was in his plan, and this dumbshow was becoming tiresome. Not to mention tiring. The dark power that served him went only so far, and he was, after all, not too experienced in the ways of darkness._

_He leaned into a thrust at the Jedi Master's gut that the Jedi deflected with a rising parry, bringing them chest-to-chest, blades flaring, locked together a handbreadth from each other's throats._

"_Your moves are too slow, Alek. Too predictable. You'll have to do better." The Jedi Master said._

_Alek's response to this friendly word was to regard him with a look of ferocious righteous anger in his eyes._

"_Very well, then," Alek said, and drove his blade straight for the Master's heart._

_Only a desperate whirl to one side made what would have been a smoking hole in his chest into a line of scorch through his armorweave cloak._

_The Master was confused._

_He threw himself spinning up and away from Alek to land on the situation table, disengaging for a moment to recover his composure—that had been __**entirely**__ too close—but by the time his boots touched down Alek was there to meet him, blade weaving through a defensive velocity so bewilderingly fast that the Master dared not even try a strike; he threw a feint toward Alek's face, then dropped and spun in a reverse ankle-sweep—_

_But not only did Alek easily dodge this attack, the Master nearly lost his __**own**__ foot to a slash from __Alek who had again come out of __**nowhere**__ and now carved through the table so that it collapsed under the Master's weight and dumped the Jedi Master's unceremoniously to the floor._

_This was __**not**__ in the Jedi Master's plan._

_Alek slammed his following strike down so hard that the shock of deflecting it buckled the Master's elbows. The Master threw himself into a backroll that brought him to his feet—and Alek's blade was there to meet his neck. Only a desperate whirling slash-block coupled with a wheel kick that caught Alek on the thigh, bough him enough time to leap away again, and when he touched down—_

_Alek was already there._

_The first overhand chop of Alek's blade slid off the Master's instinctive guard. The second bent the Master's wrist. The third flash of blue forced the Master's emerald blade so far to the inside that his own lightsaber scorched his shoulder, and the Master was forced to give ground._

_The Jedi Master blanched visibly._

_Alek came on, mechanically inexorable, impossibly powerful, a destroyer droid with a lightsaber: each step a blow and each blow a step. The Master backed away as fast as he dared; Alek stayed right on top of him. The Master's breath visibly went short and hard. He no longer tried to block Alek's strikes but to guide them slanting away; he could not meet Skywalker strength-to-strength—not only did the boy wield tremendous reserves of Force energy, but his sheer physical power was astonishing—_

_And only then did the Master understand that he'd been suckered._

_Alek's Shien ready-stance had been a ruse, as had his Ataro gymnastics; the boy was a Djem So stylist, and as a fine a one as the Master had ever seen. The Jedi Master's elegant Makashi simply did not generate the kinetic power to meet Djem So head-to-head. Especially not while also defending against the younger man._

_It was time to alter his own tactics._

_He dropped low and spun into another reverse ankle-sweep—the weakness of Djem So was its lack of mobility—that slapped Alek's boot sharply enough to throw the young Jedi off balance, giving the Master the opportunity to leap away—_

_Only to find himself again facing the wheel of blue lightning that was Revan's blade._

_Revan decided that the comedy had ended._

_Now it was time to kill._

"_Alek," Revan said in a clear, cold voice. "It's time to end this."_

_Alek was already there. "Yes, Master," he said, flaring his lightsaber in a fan of blue flame._

_Revan, with his magically enhanced physical features, kicked the Master away from him, making the Master go flying through the air._

_Twisting, the Master met Alek mid-air._

_Alek was a natural._

_There was a thermonuclear furnace where his heart should be, and it was burning through the firewalls of his Jedi training. He held the Force in the clench of a white-hot fist. He was half Sith already, and he didn't even know it._

_The boy had the gift of fury._

_And even now, Alek was holding himself back; even now, as he landed at the Master's flank and rained blows upon the Jedi Master's defenses, even as he drove the Master backward step after step, the Master could feel how Alek kept his fury banked behind walls of will: walls that were hardened by some uncontrollable dread._

_Dread, the Master surmised, of himself. Of what might happen if he should ever allow that furnace he used for a heart to go supercritical._

_The Master slipped aside from an overhand chop and sprang backward from Alek's ferocious lunges. "I sense a great fear in you. You are consumed by it. You're a __**fraud**__, Squinquargesimus. You are nothing but a posturing child."_

_The Master pointed his lightsaber at Alek like an accusing finger. "Aren't you a little too old to be afraid of the dark?"_

_Alek leapt for him again, and this time the Master met the boy's charge easily. They stood nearly toe-to-toe, blades flashing faster than the eye could see, but Alek had lost his edge: a simple taunt was all that had been required to shift the focus of his attention from winning the fight to controlling his own emotions. The angrier he got, the more afraid he became, and the fear fed his anger in turn; like the proverbial Corellian multipede, now that he had started __**thinking**__ about what he was doing, he could no longer walk._

_The Master visibly relaxed, and smiled in a playful manner, as he and Alek spun 'round each other in their lethal dance. Whatever fun was to be had, he should enjoy while he could._

_Then Revan decided to intervene._

"_Don't fear what you're feeling, Squint, __**use**__ it!" he barked. "Call upon your fury. Focus it, and he cannot stand against you. __**Rage**__ is your weapon. Strike now! __**Strike! Kill**__ him!"_

_Alek and the Master paused for one single, final instant, blades locked together, staring at each other past a sizzling cross of emerald against blue, and in that instant the Master found himself wondering in bewildered astonishment if the world had turned upside down._

_But Revan's words __**rage is your weapon**__ gave Alek permission to unseal the shielding around his furnace heart, and all his fears and all his doubts shrivel in its flame._

_When the Master flew at him, blade flashing, Alek's fury cracks out like a lightning whip to knock the Jedi Master tumbling back._

_When with all the power that the light side can draw from throughout the universe, the Jedi Master hurls a jagged fragment of the durasteel table, Revan's gentle murmur from the past __**We're best friends, Squint**__ smashes it aside._

_His head has been filled with the smoke from his smothered heart for far too long; it has been the thunder that darkens his mind. On Dxun, on Korriban, where he and Revan had first discovered some of the Star Maps, on Coruscant, on Dantooine. That smoke that had clouded his mind, had blinded him and left him flailing in the dark, a mindless machine of slaughter; but here, now , within this ship, this microscopic cell of his life in the infinite sterile desert of space, his firewalls have opened so that the terror and the rage are __**out there**__, in the fight instead of in his head, and Alek's mind is clear as a crystal bell._

_In that pristine clarity, there is only one thing he must do._

_Decide._

_So he does._

_He decides to __**win.**_

_His blade moved simultaneously with his will and blue fire vaporizes black Corellian nanosilk and disintegrates flesh and shears bone, and away fell a Jedi Master's lightsaber hand, trailing smoke that tastes of charred meat and burned hair. The hand fell with a bar of emerald blaze still extending from its spastic death grip, and Alek's heart sang for the fall of that emerald blade._

_He reached out and the Force caught it for him._

_And then Alek took the Jedi Master's other hand as well._

_The Jedi Master crumpled to his knees, face blank, mouth slack, and his weapon whirs through the air to the victor's hand, and Alek finds his vision of the future happening before his eyes: two blades at the Jedi Master's throat._

_But here, now, the truth belies the dream. Both lightsabers are in __**his**__ hands, one with a flaring blue light, the other an emerald bar of flame._

_The Jedi Master closed his eyes, hoping that there was still some Jedi left within the boy, and that he hadn't been totally consumed by the darkness._

_Until he heard, "Good, Alek! I __**knew**__ you could do it!" and registered this as Revan's voice and feels within the darkest depths of all he is the approach of the words that are to come next._

"_Kill him," Revan said calmly. "Kill him now."_

_In Alek's eyes the Master only saw flames._

"_General, __**please**__," the Master gasped, desperate and helpless, his demeanor diminished, his courage only a bitter memory. He was reduced to begging fro his life, as so many of his victims had. "Please, don't do this!"_

_And his begging gains him a share of mercy equal to that which he had dispensed. "You are a traitor to the Republic, giving information to the Mandalorians, and killing countless that were under my command. You __**deserve**__** no mercy**__." Nodding over towards Alek, he continued. "Alek," Revan said quietly. "Finish him."_

_Years of Jedi training made Alek hesitate; he looked down upon the Jedi and saw not a traitor to the Republic, but a beaten, broken, cringing older man._

"_I shouldn't—"_

_But when Revan barked, "Do it! Now!" Alek realized that this wasn't actually an order. That it is, in fact, noting more than what he'd been waiting for his whole life._

_Permission._

_And the Jedi Master—_

_As he looked up into the eyes of Alek Squinquargesimus for the final time, the Master knew that he had been deceived today. He wasn't being killed because he had __"__given" information to the Mandalorians, he was being killed in order for General Revan to strengthen his hold over Squinquargesimus. He had only been a tool._

_His whole life—all his victories, all his struggles, all his heritage, all his principles and his sacrifices, everything he's done, everything he owned, everything he'd been, all his dreams and grand vision for the future of the Republic and the Army of the Republic—have been only a pathetic sham, because all of them, all of __**him**__, add up to this._

_He had existed only for this._

_This._

_To be the victim of Alek Squinquargesimus's first cold-blooded murder._

_First but not, he knows, the last._

_Then the blades crossed at his throat like scissors._

_Snip._

_And all of him becomes nothing at all._

_End Flashback_

* * *

Alek quickly got up out of his bed, and slipped himself into a battle-ready stance. The hydrolift door opened, and revealed Revan. Sighing in cybernetic relief, Alek stowed his lightsaber away.

* * *

Revan stepped inside Alek's quarters, and found him with his lightsaber ignited, ready for a fight. Revan chuckled. If he had wanted to kill him, he would have hid his Force signature, and then silently blasted him with his wand, using a quick and easy Killing Curse.

Revan smiled and announced his plans to Alek. "Squint, it's time. Our scouts have located the third Star Map, and soon, we will have the Star Forge in our possession. Also, the inventing Lieutenant Bao-Dur that we hired to create our secret weapon… he is done with it. He calls it the MSG, or the 'Mass Shadow Generator'. With it, we can seal the Mandalorians fate. I've entrusted the activation of it to his superior officer, and my good friend. She's a capable General, and I know she can do the task I have given her." Revan smiled inwardly to himself.

* * *

Bao-Dur was a genius, and he kind of reminded Revan of Hermione. Suddenly, Revan felt an inward pang of his heart. _Hermione…_ Revan hadn't thought about his old life in many, many years.

_Would they approve of what I've done?_ Revan had often found himself wondering. _Would they be proud, knowing that I've been working to stabilize peace and prosperity, even if it's not on Earth?_

Revan however, already knew the answer, and it always made him sick to his stomach. He had killed, he had done what had to be done. He had fallen in love again (which he knew they would have been proud of him for), and she had been murdered, trying to protect a friend, from his friend Remus Lupin.

But it wasn't Lupin. It was Voldemort, who had possessed his body, killing the man inside. All that remained, was the monster. The wolf in Lupin had put up a fight as well, trying to tear his own body apart, before Voldemort had killed the wolf inside of himself as well. All that had remained was the vicious, lying persona of Lord Voldemort.

He, Revan… _No, I was Harry then…_

He, _Harry_, along with his love Darra Thel-Tanis and his friend Ferus Olin, as well as Lupin and Anakin, with their Masters, had arrived at Korriban, tracking down several criminals, including Granta Omega, the son of the Dark Jedi Xanatos, and the deranged scientist Jenna Zan Arbor. The Padawans had squabbled and fought, and Harry tried to get them to stop, feeling that the influence of the Dark Side was strong on this planet. Finally, in the confrontation with Omega, Lupin told Harry that his beloved Darra had been killed, after sacrificing herself for Ferus.

Harry, distraught, hadn't been able to take it, and released a shockwave of power, amplified by his grief. Lupin had told him that it wasn't his fault, and that he was sorry, because he, Lupin, hadn't gotten there in time. However, when Harry looked up into Lupin's eyes, they had told another story.

Lupin's normal amber were flecked with a gleaming evil red, giving off an eerie light, which danced with hidden malicious mirth. Harry didn't understand, at first, until Lupin started to laugh his high, cold laugh.

It wasn't Lupin at all. It had been Voldemort from the very beginning.

Harry tried to kill him, but just as he was about to, Voldemort caused the bodies of the dead around him to rise up and become Inferi. He managed to defeat them all, stabbing and slashing, lunging and beheading, until he reached Lupin—no Voldemort himself. Just as he was about to kill Voldemort, he heard a familiar, yet different sounding voice coming from behind him.

He whirled around in horror, as he saw Darra had become an Inferius herself. Lowering his black lightsaber, Harry had dropped to his knees in defeat.

When it came down to it, he couldn't destroy her. He loved her too much, even though she was dead.

The most shocking thing, however, was not that she attacked. It wasn't even the fact that she hadn't even touched him. It was the simple fact that after she killed Voldemort, allowing her essence to overcome his evil one last time. As she fell back into Harry's shaking arms, he watched as all of the light that had been there, finally blinked out.

She looked directly at him, and smiled, closing her eyes, mouthing the words, _**"I love you."**_

Omega was dead. Arbor was dead. Harry was the last one standing on the battlefield, as the others had already left, in pursuit of each of the murderers. Yet, Harry _wasn't_ standing. He was kneeling, cradling Darra in his arms one last time, fingers gently going through her long golden-brown hair. He gently pushed her dull, rust-colored eyes shut, for the last time.

Harry had broken down. Crying, he held onto her body hugging it, not ever wanting to leave, wishing there was some possible way for her to come back to him. _**"I love you too,"**_ he whispered back, unable to hold the constant flood that gushed out from his emerald eyes. Her beautiful, tan human features lay limp in his arms, her toned body broken. Gently, lifting her up to him, he lowered his face, and kissed her, for what was to be the very last time.

Breaking apart from her, he felt his tears stream from his face, onto her own. Wiping them away, he sat there, rocking her and himself, trying to stop the tears.

But they never did.

He felt a silent, strong hand rest on his shoulder, and looked up at the owner, with red puffy and swelled eyes. It was Obi-Wan. Looking back down at Darra, he couldn't stop his crying.

Obi-Wan had tried to comfort him, had tried to tell him that she was now one with the Force. It didn't help any. Finally, Obi-Wan had called Anakin over, and together, Obi-Wan and Anakin tried to lift Harry up.

But Harry had other plans. _**"I can't leave her,"**_ he whispered, partially to them, but more to himself. The Darkness of the planet called out to him. It whispered to the darkest regions of his heart. _**They'll never understand… They're just too blind-sided Revan…**_ Harry didn't understand. _**Revan?**_ He had questioned the voices. _**It is your chosen name…**_

"Harry," a soft voice called to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. "We need to go. We need to give Darra the proper burial she deserves."

Harry looked up again, and it was Anakin speaking. Sniffing, he nodded. Picking her up, cradling her in his arms, he stood up. Walking slowly back to the starship that was waiting for them, he hugged her tight against his body.

The wind started to pick up around them, carrying along with it the smell of dead flesh that had been in the sun. The whispers of the dead seemed to echo around them, as Harry walked up the ramp slowly with Darra's dead body. Anakin and Obi-Wan kept their distance from him, allowing him to have time with her to grieve._**You will return, Lord Revan…**_

* * *

Harry, now known as Revan, had always tried his hardest to separate his life from the war. Every time he tried, however, the people he loved always got in the way, and ended up paying the price.

Revan could only hope that Alek wouldn't suffer the same fate as so many others already suffered, at the hands of a ruthless killer.

Walking over to Alek, and placing a firm, black-leathered glove onto his friend's shoulder, he looked into his eyes. Something seemed to be haunting him, and Revan needed to know what it was.

"Squint… Alek. What's wrong, old friend?"

Alek looked downwards, mumbling that nothing was wrong.

Revan placed his hand beneath Alek's cybernetic jaw, and pushed it gently upwards, forcing Alek to look at him. "You can tell me, it's okay."

Alek was silent.

Sighing, Revan turned around, and started walking towards the door. Just as he was about to step over the threshold, however, he heard Alek's soft cybernetic voice. "It's just I wonder sometimes… Is what were doing right? Do so many people have to die?"

Instantly, Revan knew that Alek could tell that it was the wrong thing to say. The temperature in the room grew colder, and Alek found himself shivering.

Revan turned around slowly, his once emerald green eyes now golden yellow. "Is what we're doing _right_?" Revan asked incredulously. "A wise man once told me, 'You have to be able to choose between what is right, and what is easy'. Whether that is true or not, I don't know. However, every decision I've made, every battle that we have won, every battle we have _lost_, it was _never_ an easy decision." Revan looked out the porthole and viewed the stars around them. "I do not enjoy taking lives. I only enjoy taking the lives of people that deserve it."

And with that, Revan swept out of Alek's quarters, leaving him to his thoughts.

* * *

In the underground shiplift beneath the Senate Office Building, Bail Organa was scowling as he boarded _Tantive IV_. When Captain Antilles met him at the top of the landing ramp, Bail nodded backward at the scarlet-clad figures posted around the accessways. "Since when do Redrobes guard Senate ships?"

Antilles shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I have a feeling there are some Senators whom Palpatine doesn't want leaving the planet."

Bail nodded. "Thank the Force I'm not one of them. Yet. Did you get the beacon?"

"Yes, sir. No one even tried to stop us. The clones at Chance Palp seemed confused—like they're not quite sure who's in charge."

"That'll change soon. Too soon. We'll _all_ know who's in charge," Bail said grimly. "Prepare to raise ship."

"Back to Alderaan, sir?"

Bail shook his head. "Kashyyyk. There's no way to know if any Jedi have lived through this—but if I had to bet on one, my money'd be on Yoda."

* * *

Some un-definable time later, Obi-Wan felt his head and shoulders breach the surface of the lightless ocean. He unclipped his lightsaber and raised it over his head. In its blue glow he could see that he had come up in a large grotto; holding the lightsaber high, he tucked away his rebreather and side-stroked across the current to a rock outcropping that was rugged enough to offer handholds. He pulled himself out of the water.

The walls of the grotto above the waterline were pocked with openings; after inspecting the mouths of several caves, Obi-Wan came upon one where he felt a faint breath of moving air. It had a distinctly unpleasant smell—it reminded him more than a bit of the dragonmount pen—but when he doused his lightsaber for a moment and listend very closely, he could hear a faint rumble that might have been distant wheels and repulsorlifts passing over sandstone—and what was that? An air horn? Or possibly a very disturbed dragon… at any rate, this seemed to be the appropriate path.

He had walked only a few hundred meters before the gloom ahead of him was pierced by the white glare of high-intensity searchlights. He let his blade shrink away and pressed himself into a deep, narrow crack as a pair of seeker droids floated past.

Apparently Cody hadn't given up yet.

Their searchlights illuminated—and, apparently, awakened—some sort of immense amphibian cousin of a dragonmount; it blinked sleepily at them as it lifted its slickly glistening starfighter-sized head.

_Oh_, Obi-Wan though. _That explains the smell._

He breathed into the Force a suggestion that these small bobbing spheroids of circuitry and durasteel were actually, contrary to smell and appearance, some unexpected variety of immortally delicious confection sent down from the heavens by the kindly gods of Huge Slimy Cave-Monsters.

The Huge Slimy Cave-Monster in question promptly opened jaws that could engulf a bantha and snapped one of the seekers from the air, chewing it to slivers with every evidence of satisfaction. The second seeker emitted a startled and thoroughly alarmed _wheepwheepwheep_ and shot away into the darkness, with the creature in hot pursuit.

Reigniting his lightsaber and moving cautiously back out into the cavern, Obi-Wan came upon a nest of what must have been infant Huge Slimy Cave-Monsters; picking his way around it as they lunged and snapped and squalled at him, he reflected absently that people who thought all babies were cute should really get out more.

Obi-Wan walked, and occasionally climbed or slid or had to leap, and walked some more.

Soon the darkness in the cavern gave way to the pale glow of Utapaun traffic lighting, and Obi-Wan found himself standing in a smallish side tunnel off a major thoroughfare. This was clearly little traveled, though; the sandy dust on its floor was so thick it was practically a beach. In fact, he could clearly see the tracks of the last vehicle to pass this way.

Broad parallel tracks pocked with divots: a blade-wheeler.

And beside them stretched long splay-clawed prints of a running dragon.

Obi-Wan blinked in mild astonishment. He had never entirely grown accustomed to the way the Force always came through for him—but neither was he reluctant to accept its gifts. Frowning thoughtfully, he followed the tracks a short distance around a curve, until the tunnel gave way to the small landing platform.

Grievous's starfighter was still there. As were the remains of Grievous.

Apparently not even the local rock-vultures could stomach him.

* * *

_Tantive IV_ swept through the Kasyyyk system on silent running; this was still a combat zone. Captain Antilles wouldn't even risk standard scans, because they could so easily be detected and backtraced by Separatist forces.

And the Separatists weren't the only ones Antilles was worried about.

"There's the signal again, sir. Whoops. Wait, I'll get it back." Antilles fiddled some more with the controls on the beacon. "Blasted thing," he muttered. "What, you can't calibrate it without using the Force?"

Bail stared through the forward view wall. Kashyyyk was only a tiny green disk two hundred thousand kilometers away. "Do you have a vector?"

"Roughly, sir. It seems to be on an orbital tangent, headed outsystem."

"I think we can risk a scan. Tight beam."

"Very well, sir."

Antilles gave the necessary orders, and moments later the can tech reported that the object they'd picked up seemed to be some soft of escape pod. "It's not a Republic model, sir—wait, here comes the database—"

The scan tech frowned at his screen. "It's… Wookiee, sir. That doesn't make any sense. Why would a Wookiee escape pod be _outbound_ from _Kashyyyk?_"

"Interesting." Bail didn't yet allow himself to hope. "Lifesigns?"

"Yes—well, maybe… this reading doesn't make any…" The scan tech could only shrug. "I'm not sure, sir. Whatever it is, it's no Wookiee, that's for sure…"

For the first time all day, Bail Organa allowed himself to smile. "Captain Antilles?"

The captain saluted crisply. "On our way, sir."

* * *

Obi-Wan took General Grievous's starfighter screaming out of the atmosphere so fast he popped the gravity well and made jump before the _Vigilance_ could even scramble its fighters. He reverted to realspace well beyond the system, kicked the starfighter to a new vector, and jumped again. A few more jumps of random direction and duration left him deep in interstellar space.

"You know," he said to himself, "integral hyperspace capability is rather useful in a starfighter; why don't _we_ have it yet?"

While the starfighter's nav system whirred and chunked its way through recalculating his position, he punched codes to gang his Jedi comlink into the starfighter's system.

Instead of a holoscan, the comlink generated an audio signal—an accelerating series of beeps.

Obi-Wan knew that signal. Every Jedi did. It was the recall code.

It was being broadcast on every channel by every HoloNet repeater. It was supposed to mean that the war was over. It was supposed to mean that the Council had ordered all Jedi to return to the Temple immediately.

Obi-Wan suspected it actually meant what happened on Utapau was far from an isolated incident.

He keyed the comlink for audio. He took a deep breath.

"Emergency Code Nine Thirteen," he said, and waited.

The starfighter's comm system cycled through every response frequency.

He waited some more.

"Emergency Code Nine Thirteen. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Repeat: Emergency Code Nine Thirteen. Are there any Jedi out there?"

He waited. His heart thumped heavily.

"Any Jedi, please respond. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi declaring a Nine Thirteen Emergency."

He tried to ignore the small, still voice inside his head that whispered he might just be the only one out here.

He might just be the only one, period.

He started punching coordinates for a single jump that would bring him close enough to pick up a signal directly from Coruscant when a burst of fuzz came over his comlink. A quick glance confirmed the frequency: a Jedi channel.

"Please repeat," Obi-Wan said. "I'm locking onto your signal. Please repeat."

The fuzz became a spray of blue laser, which gradually resolved into a fuzzy figure of a tall, slim human with dark hair and an elegant goatee. "_Master Kenobi? Are you all right? Have you been wounded?"_

"Senator Organa!" Obi-Wan exclaimed with profound relief. "No, I'm not wounded—but I'm certainly _not_ all right. I need help. My clones turned on me. I barely escaped with my life!"

"_There have been ambushes all over the galaxy._"

Obi-Wan lowered his head, offering a silent wish to the Force that the victims might find peace within it.

"Have you had contact with any other survivors?"

"_Only one,_" the Alderaanian Senator said grimly. "_Lock onto my coordinates. He's waiting for you._"

* * *

Revan stood aboard the platform, high above the numerous Jedi and soldiers, gazing down at them. Each of them were questionably loyal to the cause, and each of them were about to be sent into battle because of it. He had put his most favored General in charge of it, and Revan knew that she wouldn't let him down.

Behind his cold, metal armor and mask, Revan sneered at each one of them. The only trustworthy one out of the bunch was the General, and he knew that the poor excuse for soldiers and Jedi would follow her without question. That was why they needed to die.

"_Sonorus_," he murmured pointing his wand at his throat. Starting to speak, he announced the battle plan to the soldiers. "Today is the day we have been waiting for. We have drawn the Mandalorians here to Malachor V, and soon, the enemy will be upon us. Never fear, because after today, we will have won the war, and you will have won back your freedom!" Revan said, pumping his iron-clad fist into the air. "The General has graciously agreed to lead you into battle, while I myself go after Mandalore the Ultimate. I promise you, that by the time this battle is through, Mandalore will be dead, and the Mandalorians will be destroyed!"

There were loud cheers, coming from the men, women, and aliens below. Revan smiled. No one could see it, however, as he had his metal mask on. Turning away from his position on the platform, he made a sweeping gesture towards the hydrolift door, muttering a quick _Quietus_, cancelling the Amplification spell. Walking past his advisors and his Generals, he let his cloak whip past them.

Calling back behind him, he said, "Prepare my starfighter, I have a feeling this is going to be a long battle."

Yes. Today was the day that Revan had been looking forward to for a long time. Soon, he wouldn't have to pretend to be the good Jedi boy anymore. Soon, he would bring peace and stability to the galaxy. Even if it meant becoming the Absolute ruler. The Lord of the Sith, Darth Revan.

Gone was his old Sith name, Darth Lightning (he hadn't particularly cared for it anyway, Exar Kunn HAD always been a little… _uncreative_ when it came to names).

Glancing back towards Alek, he stopped. Whirling around, he snarled. "Alek, what the bloody _hell_ are you still doing here?" Revan started to advance on him, igniting his blue lightsaber furiously. "_Get to your ship!_" Revan hissed.

Alek wisely turned tail, and ran towards his own starfighter.

Sighing, rubbing his temples in irritation, Revan turned around again, and walked briskly down the halls of his flagship, yellow eyes squinting in irritation. "When will that boy learn not to anger me?" Revan hissed to himself.

* * *

A curve of knuckle, skinned, black scab corrugated with dirt and leaking red—

The fringe of fray at the cuff of a beige sleeve, dark, crusted with splatter from the death of a general—

These were what Obi-Wan Kenobi could look at without starting to shake.

The walls of the small conference room on _Tantive IV_ were too featureless to hold his attention; to look at a wall allowed his mind to wander…

And the shaking began.

The shaking got worse when he met the ancient green stare of the tiny alien seated across the table from him, for that wrinkled leather skin and those tufts of withered hair were his earliest memory, and they reminded Obi-Wan of his friends who had died today.

The shaking got worse still when he turned to the other being in the room, because he wore politician's robes that reminded Obi-Wan of the enemy who yet lived.

The deception. The death of Jedi Masters he had admired, of Jedi Knights who had been his friends. The death of his oath to Qui-Gon.

The death of Anakin.

Anakin must have fallen along with Mace and Agen, Saesee and Kit; fallen along with the Temple.

Along with the Order itself.

Ashes.

Ashes and dust.

Twenty-five thousand years wiped from existence in a single day.

All the dreams. All the promises.

All the _children_…

"We took them from their _homes_." Obi-Wan fought to stay in his chair; the pain inside him demanded motion. It became wave after wave of tremors. "We _promised_ their _families_—"

"Control yourself, you must; still Jedi, you are!"

"Yes, Master Yoda." That scab on his knuckle—focused on that, he could suppress the shaking. "Yes, we are Jedi. But what if we're the _last_?"

"If the last we are, unchanged our duty is." Yoda settled his chin onto hands folded over the head of his gimer stick. He looked every day of his nearly nine hundred years. "While one Jedi lives, survive the Order does. Resist the darkness with every breath, we must."

He lifted his head and the stick angled to poke Obi-Wan in the shin. "Especially the darkness in _ourselves_, young one. Of the dark side, despair is."

The simple truth of this called to him. Even despair is attachment: it is a grip clenched upon pain.

Slowly, very slowly, Obi-Wan Kenobi remembered what it was to be a Jedi.

He leaned back in his chair and covered his face with both hands, inhaling a thin stream of air between his palms; into himself with the air he brought pain and guilt and remorse, and as he exhaled, they trailed away and vanished in the air.

He breathed out his whole life.

Everything he had done, everything he had been, friends and enemies, dreams and hopes and fears.

Empty, he found clarity. Scrubbed clean, the Force shone through him. He sat up and nodded to Yoda.

"Yes," he said. "We may be the last. But what if we're _not_?"

Green leather brows drew together over lambent eyes. "The Temple beacon."

"Yes. Any surviving Jedi might still obey the recall, and be killed."

Bail Organa looked from one Jedi to the other, frowning. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Obi-Wan replied, "that we have to go back to Coruscant."

"It's too dangerous," the Senator said instantly. "The whole planet is a _trap_—"

"Yes. WE have a—ah…"

The loss of Anakin stabbed him.

Then he let that go, too.

"_I_ have," he corrected himself, "a policy on traps…"

* * *

Mustafar burned with lava streaming from volcanoes of glittering obsidian.

At the fringe of its gravity well, a pray of prismatic starlight warped a starfighter into existence. Declamping from its hyperdrive ring, the starfighter streaked into an atmosphere chocked with dense smoke and cinders.

The starfighter followed a preprogrammed course toward the planet's lone installation, an automated lava mine built originally by the Techno Union to draw precious metals from the continuous rivers of burning stone. Upgraded with the finest mechanized defenses that money could buy, the settlement had become the final redoubt of the leaders of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. It was absolutely impenetrable.

Unless one had its deactivation codes.

Which was how the starfighter could land without causing the installation's defenses to so much as stir.

The habitable areas of the settlement were spread among towers that looked like poisonous toadstools sprung from the bank of a river of fire. The main control center squatted atop the largest, beside the small landing deck where the starfighter had alit. It was from this control center, less than an hour before, that a coded command had been transmitted over every HoloNet repeater in the galaxy.

At that signal, every combat droid in every army on every planet marched back to its transport, resocketed itself, and turn itself off. The Clone Wars were over.

Almost.

There was a final detail.

A dark-cloaked figure swung down from the cockpit of the starfighter.

* * *

A/N: Sorry again for the long wait! Again, I know this doesn't make up for the month that I didn't update, but I hope its at least satisfying for you! Enjoy! Read and Review, but no Flames!

Beggs


	6. The Face of the Sith

A/N: The reason for the fast update is for me to apologize again for that wait for about a month. So here is chapter number six, which normally would be released about a week from now, being released right now.

Enjoy!

* * *

_At that signal, every combat droid in every army on every planet marched back to its transport, resocketed itself, and turn itself off. The Clone Wars were over._

_Almost._

_There was a final detail._

_A dark-cloaked figure swung down from the cockpit of the starfighter._

* * *

"_I'm saying," Obi-Wan replied, "that we have to go back to Coruscant."_

"_It's too dangerous," the Senator said instantly. "The whole planet is a __**trap**__—"_

"_Yes. We have a—ah…"_

_The loss of Anakin stabbed him._

_Then he let that go, too._

"_**I**__ have," he corrected himself, "a policy on traps…"_

* * *

_Glancing back towards Alek, he stopped. Whirling around, he snarled. "Alek, what the bloody __**hell**__ are you still doing here?" Revan started to advance on him, igniting his blue lightsaber furiously. "__**Get to your ship!**__" Revan hissed._

_Alek wisely turned tail, and ran towards his own starfighter._

_Sighing, rubbing his temples in irritation, Revan turned around again, and walked briskly down the halls of his flagship, yellow eyes squinting in irritation. "When will that boy learn not to anger me?" Revan hissed to himself._

* * *

**Chapter Six:  
The Face of the Sith**

Bail Organa strode onto the _Tantive'_s shuttle deck to find Obi-Wan and Yoda gazing dubiously at the tiny cockpit of Obi-Wan's starfighter. "I suppose," Obi-Wan was saying reluctantly, "if you don't mind riding on my lap…"

"That may not be necessary," Bail said. "I've just been summoned back to Coruscant by Mas Amedda; Palpatine has called the Senate into Extraordinary Session. Attendance is required."

"Ah." Obi-Wan's mouth turned downward. "It's clear what this will be about."

"I am," Bail said slowly, "concerned that this might be a trap."

"Unlikely this is." Yoda hobbled toward him. "Unknown, is the purpose of your sudden departure from the capital; dead, young Obi-Wan and I are both presumed to be."

"And Palpatine won't be moving against the Senate as a whole," Obi-Wan added. "At least, not yet; he'll need the illusion of democracy to keep the individual star systems in line. He won't risk a general uprising."

Bail nodded. "In that case—" He took a deep breath. "—perhaps I can offer Your Graces a lift?"

* * *

_Inside the control center of the Separatist bunker on Mustafar…_

* * *

Wat Tambor was adjusting the gas mix inside his armor—

Poggle the Lesser was massaging his fleshy lip-tendrils—

Shu Mai was fiddling with the brass binding that restrained her hair into the stylish curving horn that rose behind her head—

San Hill was stretching his bodystocking, which had begun to ride up in the crotch—

Rune Haako was shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot—

While Nute Gunray spoke to the holopresence of Darth Sidious.

"The plan has gone exactly as you promised, my lord," Gunray said. "This is a glorious day for the galaxy!"

"_Yes, indeed. Thanks, in great part, to you, Viceroy, and to your associates of the Techno Union and the IBC. And, of course, Archduke Poggle. You have all performed magnificently well. Have your droid armies completed shutdown?"_

"Yes, my lord. Nearly an hour ago."

"_Excellent! You will be handsomely rewarded. Has my new apprentice, Darth Vader, arrived?"_

"His ship touched down only a moment ago."

"_Good, good,"_ the holoscan of the cloaked man said pleasantly. _"I have left your reward in his hands. He will take care of you."_

The door cycled open.

A tall cloaked figure, slim but broad-shouldered, face shadowed by a heavy hood, stood in the doorway.

San Hill beat the others to the greeting. "Welcome, Lord Vader!" His elongated legs almost tangled with each other in his rush to shake the hand of the Sith Lord. "On behalf of the leadership of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, let me be the first to—"

"Very well. You will be the first."

The cloaked figure stepped inside and made a gesture with a black-gloved hand. Blast doors slammed across every exit. The control panel exploded in a shower of sparking wires.

The cloaked figure threw back its hood.

San Hill recoiled, hands flapping like panicked birds sewn to his wrists.

He had time to gasp, "You're—you're _Anakin Skywalker_!" before a fountain of blue-plasma burned into his chest, curving through a loop that charred all three of his hearts.

The Separatist leadership watched in frozen horror as the corpse of the head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan collapsed like a depowered protocol droid.

"The resemblance," Darth Vader said, "is deceptive."

* * *

Revan zigzagged through the other fighters, avoiding engagement with the enemy. However, it was mostly because the starfighter he was in was flying in an erratic, evasive manner that took it out of combat range every time it got too close for comfort. Fighters were exploding all around him, some so close he could see the pieces as they flew past his canopy.

"This is tense," Revan breathed as he tried to fix the controls on his control panel, the fighter dipping and yawing in response to his unwelcome interference with its operation.

The downside to all this was that the firing triggers to the laser guns had locked, and try as he might, he could not find a way to break them free.

Good thing he had an astromech droid.

The astromech droid overrode anything he was going to say with a series of frantic whistles.

"I've got control now?" Revan exclaimed. "Thanks, I'll make sure you're treated extremely well after we get out of this."

He seized the steering, flipped on the power feeds, and jammed the thruster bars left. To his everlasting gratitude, the fighter banked sharply in response, and they shot past the fighters and rode into a new swarm of combatants.

His enthusiasm overrode his good sense, and he whipped his fighter toward the center of the battle. All of his flying instincts kicked in, and he was back in the dogfights at the Battle of Coruscant, fighting along with Anakin and Obi-Wan. This was the real deal. All that mattered was that he had found his way into space, taken command of the malfunctioning starfighter, and been given a chance to live his dream of winning this war.

An enemy fighter drifted into his sights ahead. "Sit tight. This guy's gonna wish he'd never been born."

He brought his ship into firing position behind the Trade Federation craft, remembering belatedly that the triggers to his laser guns were locked. Frantically, he pressed the release, but nothing was happening.

He punched another button, but instead of releasing the firing mechanism, it accelerated the fighter right past the enemy ship.

Revan hissed in annoyance. The enemy flagship, the one that Mandalore the Ultimate was reportedly in, loomed ahead.

Another enemy fighter was on his tail, maneuvering into firing position against him. Revan yanked hard on the steering, shooting past the massive flagship, screaming out into the void in a series of evasive actions.

Revan swore loudly.

"That was _not_ the release," Revan hissed to himself. "That was the bloody _overdrive_!"

The astromech whistled a sheepish reply, but Revan ignored it. The enemy fighter was behind them again and closing. Revan banked his ship hard to the right and brought it back toward the blockade and the swarming fighters. Wrenching the stabilizers in opposite directions, he began to spin his fighter like a top. The astromech shrieked in despair.

"Quit worrying!" Revan said loudly to the droid. "Just hang on! The way out of this mess is the way we got into it!"

He streaked toward the control station, taking the enemy fighter with him. Laser blasts ripped past him, barely missing. He waited a second longer, until he was so close to the flagship that the emblem of the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders painted on the bridge work loomed like a wall, then engaged the reverse thrusters and banked right again.

His fighter nearly stalled, dropping away like a stone for a heart-wrenching moment before stabilizing. The enemy fighter, on the other hand, had no time to respond to the maneuver and rocketed past him into the side of the battleship, exploding in a shower of fire and metal parts.

Reengaging the forward thrusters, Revan wheeled the ship about, searching for new enemies. Through his canopy, he could see a handful of his own Jedi starfighters engaged in attacking the Mandalorian flagship.

The General's voice came over the intercom. "Bravo Three! Go for the central bridge!"

"Copy, Bravo Leader," came the response.

A squad of four fighters plummeted toward the battleship, lasers firing , but the big ship's deflector shields turn the attack aside effortlessly. Two of the fighters were hit by cannon fire and exploded into ash. The remaining two broke off the attack.

"Their shields are too strong!" one of the surviving pilots shouted angrily. "We'll never get through!"

Revan, in the meantime, was under attack once more. Another Mandalorian fighter had found him and was giving chase. The man jammed the thruster bars forward and sped down the hull of the flagship, twisting and turning through its channels and around its tangle of protrustions, laser fire ricocheting past in a constant stream.

"I know this isn't a game!" Revan snapped at the astromech, as the droid beeped reprovingly at him.

But in his heart, it felt as if it were. A fierce glee rushed through him as he whipped his starfighter along the length of the flagship. The speed and the quickness of the battle fed into him in a rush of adrenaline. He would not have been anywhere else for the world.

But this time his luck ran out. As he neared the ship's tail, a laser blast struck his fighter a solid blow, knocking it into a stomach-lurching spin. The astromech screamed anew, and Revan fought desperately to regain control.

Revan swore, hissing, fighting to stabilize his stricken craft.

He was hurtling directly toward the hull, and he pulled back on the thruster bars, cutting power and drifting into a long slide. He regained control too late to turn back, and pointed the fighter toward a giant opening at the flagships center. Cannon fire whipped all about him as the droids controlling the flagship's guns tried to bring him down, but he was past them in a microsecond, rocketing into the flagship's cavernous main hangar. Reverse thrusters on full power, dodging transports, tanks, fighters, and stacks of supplies, he struggled to keep his fighter airborne as he looked for a place to land.

The astromech was beeping wildly. "Calm down, I've got this under control!" Revan shouted in reply. "Calm down!"

The Jedi starfighter struck the decking and bounced, reverse thrusters powering up in an effort to brake the craft. A bulkhead loomed ahead, blocking the way. Revan brought the fighter down on the decking with a bone-jarring thud and held it there, skidding down the ramp-way in a screech of metal. The fighter slowed and did a half turn and came to an unsteady halt. The power drive stalled and then failed completely.

The astromech whistled in relief.

"I fully expect the engines to be running when I return." And with that, Revan opened the canopy, and jumped out of his fighter.

Dozens of battle droids were approaching across the hangar floor, weapons raised menacingly. Their only escape route was blocked.

Revan smiled darkly behind his wrought-metal mask. _Good._

* * *

On the flagship's bridge, overheated Mandalorians were strapped into their battle stations in full crash webbing. The air reeked of burning metal and the funk of stress hormones, and the erratically shifting gravity threatened to add a sharper stench: the faces of several of the bridge officers had already paled from healthy pink to nauseated gray-green.

The sole being on the bridge who was not strapped into a chair stalked from one side to the other, floor-length cape draped over shoulders angular as exposed bone. He ignored the jolts of impact and was unaffected by the swirl of unpredictable gravity as he paced the deck with metal-on-metal clanks; he walked on taloned creations of magnetized duranium, jointed to grab and crush like the feet of a Vratixan blood eagle.

His expression could not be read—his face was covered by a mask he had liberated from its previous owner—but the pure venom in the voice that hissed through the mask's vocabulator made up for it.

"Either get the gravity generators calibrated or disable them altogether," he snarled at the blue-scanned image of a cringing Mandalorian engineer. "If this continues, you won't live long enough to be killed by the Republic."

"But, but, but sir—it's really up to the repair droids—"

"And because they _are_ droids, it's useless to threaten them. So I am threatening _you_. Understand?"

He turned away before the stammering engineer could summon a reply. The hand he extended toward the forward viewscreen wore a jointed gauntlet of wrought-metal armor, over-layering a thick sheet of duranium alloy. "Concentrate fire on Revan's flagship," he told the senior gunnery officer. "All batteries at maximum. Fire for effect. Blast that hulk out of space, and we'll make a hyperspace jump through its wreckage."

"But—the forward towers are already _overloading_, sir." The officer's voice trembled on the edge of panic. "They'll be at critical failure in less than a _minute_—"

"Burn them out."

"But sir, once they're gone—"

The rest of the senior gunnery officer's objection was lost in the wet, smoking, final sound his face made under the impact of a high-powered energy blast. The blast that came from the same smoking gun, from the same fist that then seized the collar of the officer's uniform, and yanked his corpse out of the chair, ripping the crash webbing free along with it.

An expressionless masked face turned toward the junior gunnery office. "Congratulations on your promotion. Take your post."

"Y-y-yes, sir." The newly promoted senior gunnery officer's hands shook so badly he could barely unbuckle his crash web, and his face had gone deathly gray-green.

"Do you understand your orders?"

"Y-y-y—"

"Do you have any objections?"

"N-n-n—"

"Very well, then," Mandalore the Ultimate said, with a flat, impenetrable calm. "Carry on."

* * *

White-hot sparks zipped and crackled through the smoke that billowed across the turbolift lobby. Revan smiled to himself, clipping his blue lightsaber back onto his belt. The melted and twisted remains of every destroyer droid that had tried to attack him, were lying scattered, dismantled, and utterly destroyed. Walking calmly toward the turbolift, he opened the lift doors with the Force.

Sighing, he felt around in the Force for Mandalore's presence. Finding it on the flagship's bridge, Revan allowed his magic to flow around him. Closing his eyes, he allowed the Force to show him a picture of what was happening on the bridge. Mandalorians were busy and frightened, doing all they could to keep the ship steady. Destroyer droids were all around, and of course, Mandalore's blasted body guards. But where was Mandalore?

Finally, he spotted the fine, Platinum and Durasteel-plated throne that Mandalore himself was sitting upon. It was as if he were waiting for something.

Revan, smiling to himself beneath his own armor, opened his eyes, and disapparated with a small pop.

* * *

The Senate Guard blinked, then straightened and smoothed the drape of his robe. He risked a glance at his partner, who flanked the opposite side of the door.

Had they really just gotten as lucky as he thought they had?

Were this Senator and his aides really walking right out of the turbolift with a couple of as-yet-uncaptured _Jedi_?

Wow. Promotions all around.

The guard tried not to stare at the two Jedi, and did his best to sound professional. "Welcome back, Senator. May I see your clearance?""

An identichip was produced without hesitation: Bail Organa, senior Senator from Alderaan.

"Thank you. You may proceed." The guard handed back the identichip. He was rather pleased with how steady and business-like he sounded. "We will take custody of the Jedi."

Then the taller of the two Jedi murmured gently that it would be better if he and his counterpart were to stay with the Senator, and really, he seemed like such a reasonable fellow, and it was such a good idea—after all, the Grand Convocation Chamber of the Galactic Senate was so secure there was really no way for a Jedi to cause any trouble for anyone and they could just as easily be apprehended on their way out, and the guard didn't want to seem like an unreasonable fellow himself, and so he found himself nodding and agreeing that yes, indeed, it would be better if the Jedi stayed with the Senator.

And everyone was so reasonable and agreeable that it seemed perfectly reasonable and agreeable to the guard that the Jedi and the Senator, instead of staying together as they'd said, made low-voiced _Force-be-with-you_ farewells; it never occurred to the guard to object even when the Senator entered the Convocation Chamber and the two Jedi headed off for… well, apparently, somewhere else.

* * *

All eight members of Decoy Squad Five were deployed at a downlevel loading dock, where supplies that Jedi could not grow in their own Temple gardens had been delivered daily.

Not anymore.

This deep in Coruscant's downlevels, the sun never shone; the only illumination came from antiquated glow globes, their faded light yellow as ancient parchment that only darkened the shadows around. In those shadows lived the dregs of the galaxy, squatters and scavengers, madmen and fugitives from the justice above. Parts of Coruscant's downlevels could be worse than Nar Shaddaa.

The men of Decoy Squad Five would have been alert on any post. They were bred to be. Here, though, there were in a combat zone, where their lives and their missions depended on their perceptions, and on how fast their blasters could come out from inside those Jedi-style robes.

So when a ragged, drooling hunchback lurched out of the gloom nearby, a bundle cradled in his arms, Decoy Squad Five took it for granted that he was a threat. Blasters appeared with miraculous speed. "Halt. Identify yourself."

"No, no, no, Yer Graces, on, no, I'm bein' here to _help_, y'see, I'm on _yerr_ side!" The hunchback slurped droll back into his slack lips as he lurched toward them. "Lookit I got here, I mean, _lookit_—'sa Jedi _babby_, ennit?"

The sergeant of the squad squinted at the bundle in the hunchback's arms. "A Jedi baby?"

"Oooh, sher. Sher, Yer Grace. Jedi babby, sher azzel iddiz! Come from outcher Temple, dinnit? Lookit!"

The hunchback was now close enough that the sergeant could see what he carried in his filthy bundle. It _was_ a baby. Sort of. It was the ugliest baby the sergeant had ever seen, alien or not, wizened and shriveled like a worn-out purse of moldly leather, with great pop eyes and a toothless idiot's grin.

The sergeant frowned skeptically. "Anyone could grab some deformed kid and claim it's anything they want. How do you know it's a Jedi?"

The baby said, "My lightsaber, the first clue would be, hmm?"

A burning blade of green slanted across the sergeant's face so close he could smell the ozone, and the hunchback wasn't a hunchback anymore: he now held a lightsaber the color of the summer sky, and he said in a clipped, educated Coruscanti accent, "Please don't try to resist. No one has to get hurt."

The men of Decoy Squad Five disagreed.

Six seconds later, all eight of them were dead.

Yoda looked up at Obi-Wan. "To hide the bodies, no point there is."

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. "These are clones; an abandoned post is as much a giveaway as a pile of corpses. Let's get to that beacon.

* * *

Within the Separatist leadership bunker's control center were dozens of combat droids. There were armed and armored guards. There were automated defense systems.

There were screams, and tears, and pleas for mercy.

None of them mattered.

The Sith had come to Mustafar.

Poggle the Lesser, Archduke of Geonosis, scrambled like an animal through a litter of severed arms and legs and heads, both metal and flesh, whimpering, fluttering his ancient gauzy wings until a bar of lightning flash-burned his own head free of his neck.

Shu Mai, president and CEO of the Commerce Guild, looked up from her knees, hands clasped before her, tears streaming down her shriveled cheeks. "We were promised a _reward_," she gasped. "A h—h—_handsome_ reward—"

"I am your reward," the Sith Lord said. "You don't find me handsome?"

"_Please!_" she screeched through her sobbing. "_Pleee_—"

The blue-white blade cut into and out from her skull, and her corpse swayed. A negligent flip of the wrist slashed through her column of neck rings. Her brain-burned head tumbled to the floor.

The only sound, then, was a panicky stutter of footfalls as Wat Tambor and the two Neimoidians scampered along a hallway toward a nearby conference room.

The Sith Lord was in no hurry to pursue. All the exits from the control center were blast-shielded, and they were sealed, and he had destroyed the controls.

The conference room was, as the expression goes, a dead end.

* * *

Thousands of clone troops swarmed the Jedi Temple.

Multiple battalions on each level were not just an occupying force, but engaged in the long, painstaking process of preparing dead bodies for positive identification. The Jedi dead were to be tallied against the rolls maintained in the Temple archives; the clone dead would be cross-checked with regimental rosters. All the dead had to be accounted for.

This was turning out to be somewhat more complicated than the clone officers had expected. Though the fighting had ended hours ago, troopers kept turning up missing. Usually small patrolling squads—five troopers or less—that still made random sweeps through the Temple hallways, checking every door and window, every desk and every closet.

Sometimes when those closets were opened, what was found inside were five dead bodies.

And there were disturbing reports as well; officers coordinating the sweeps recorded a string of sightings of movement—usually a flash of robe disappearing around a corner, caught in a trooper's peripheral vision—that on investigation seemed to have been only imagination, or hallucination. There were also multiple reports of inexplicable sounds coming from out-of-the-way areas that turned out to be deserted.

Though clone troopers were schooled from even before awakening in their Kaminoan crèche-schools to be ruthlessly pragmatic, materialistic, and completely impervious to superstition, some of them began to suspect that the Temple might be haunted.

In the vast misty gloom of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, one of the clones on the cleanup squad caught a glimpse of someone moving beyond a stand of Hylaian marsh bamboo. "Halt!" he shouted. "You there! Don't move!"

The shadowy figure darted off into the gloom, and the clone turned to his squad brothers. "Come on! Whatever that was, we can't let it get away!"

Clones pelted off into the mist. Behind them, at the spill of bodies they'd been working on, fog and gloom gave birth to a pair of Jedi Masters.

Obi-Wan stepped over white-armored bodies to kneel beside blaster-burned corpses of children. Tears flowed freely down tracks that hadn't had a chance to dry since he'd first entered the Temple. "Not even the younglings survived. It looks like they made a stand here."

Yoda's face creased with ancient sadness. "Or trying to flee they were, with some turning back to slow the pursuit."

Obi-Wan turned to another body, an older one, a Jedi fully mature and beyond. Grief punched a gasp from his chest. "Master Yoda—it's the _Troll_…"

Yoda looked over and nodded bleakly. "Abandon his young students, Cin Drallig would not."

Obi-Wan sank to his knees beside the fallen Jedi. "He was my lightsaber instructor…"

"And his, was I," Yoda said. "Cripple us, grief will, if let it we do."

"I know. But… it's one thing to know a friend is dead, Master Yoda. It's another to find his _body_…"

"Yes." Yoda moved closer. With his gimer stick, he pointed at a bloodless gash in Drallig's shoulder that had cloven deep into his chest. "Yes, it is. See this, do you? This wound, no blaster could make."

An icy void opened in Obi-Wan's heart. It swallowed his pain and his grief, leaving behind a precariously empty calm.

He whispered, "A _lightsaber_?"

"Business with the recall beacon, have we still." Yoda pointed with his stick at figures winding toward them among the trees and pools. "Returning the clones are."

Obi-Wan rose. "I will learn who did this."

"Learn?"

Yoda shook his head sadly.

"Know already, you do," he said, and hobbled off into the gloom.

* * *

Darth Vader left nothing living behind when he walked from the main room of the control center.

Casually, carelessly, he strolled along the hallway, scoring the durasteel wall with the tip of his blade, enjoying the sizzle of disintegrating metal as he had savored the smoke of charred alien flesh.

The conference room door was closed. A barrier so paltry would be an insult to the blade; a black-gloved hand made a fist. The door crumpled and fell.

The Sith Lord stepped over it.

The conference room was walled with transparisteel. Beyond, obsidian mountains rained fire upon the land. Rivers of lava embraced the settlement.

Rune Haako, aide and confidential secretary to the viceroy of the Trade Federation, tripped over a chair as he stumbled back. He fell to the floor, shaking like a grub in a frying pan, trying to scrabble beneath the table.

"Stop!" he cried. "Enough! We _surrender_, do you understand? You can't just _kill_ us—"

The Sith Lord smiled. "Can't I?"

"We're unarmed! We surrender! Please—please, you're a _Jedi_!"

"You fought a war to destroy the Jedi." Vader stood above the shivering Neimoidian, smiling down upon him, then fed him half a meter of plasma. "Congratulations on your success."

The Sith Lord stepped over Haako's corpse to where Wat Tambor clawed uselessly at the trasparisteel wall with his armored gauntlets. The head of the Techno Union turned at his approach, cringing, arms lifted to shield his faceplate from the flames in the dragon's eyes. "Please, I'll give you _anything_. _Anything you want!_"

The blade flashed twice; Tambor's arms fell to the floor, followed by his head.

"Thank you."

Darth Vader turned to the last living leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

Nute Gunray, viceroy of the Trade Federation, stood trembling in an alcove, blood-tinged tears streaming down his green-mottled cheeks. "The war…," he whimpered. "The war is _over_—Lord Sidious _promised_—he promised we would be left in _peace_…"

"His transmission was garbled." The blade came up. "He promised you would be left in _pieces_."

* * *

"Sir?" The thin voice of the comm officer interrupted Mandalore's pacing. "We are being hailed by Revan's flagship, sir. They propose a cease-fire."

Dark yellow eyes squinted through the metal mask at the tactical displays. A pause in the combat would allow his own flagship's turbolaser batteries to cool, and give the engineers a chance to get the gravity generators under control. "Acknowledge receipt of transmission. Stand by to cease fire."

"Stand by, sir." The gunnery office was still shaking.

"Cease fire."

The lances of energy that had joined the Mandalorian's ship to the Revanchist Home Fleet Strike Force melted away.

"Further transmission, sir. It's the second-in-command on _their_ side, sir."

Mandalore nodded. "Initiate."

A ghostly image built itself above the bridge's ship-to-ship hologenerator: a young human male of a distinctly above average height and build, wearing the customary Red uniform the Mandalorians had grown to love to hate so much. The blue tattoos on his head, and the cybernetic jaw, along with the calm confidence in his eyes, were the only distinctive features on the young man's face. Everything else was slightly hidden by shadow.

"_Supreme Commander Mandalore the Ultimate,_" the young man said briskly, "_I am General Alek Squinquargesimus, current commander of Lord Revan's fleet. At my order, we have temporarily ordered a cease-fire, to offer you the chance to surrender your ship, sir._"

"Surrender?" Mandalore produced a very credible reproduction of a snort. "Preposterous."

"_Please give this offer careful deliberation, Commander, as it will not be repeated. Consider the lives of your crew._"

Mandalore cast an icy glance around his bridge full of craven Mandalorians. "Why should I?"

The man did not look surprised, though he did show a trace of sadness. "_Is this your reply, then?_"

"Not at all." Mandalore drew himself up; by straightening the angles of his armored joints, he could add half a meter to his already imposing height. "I have a counteroffer. Maintain your cease-fire, move that hulk out of my way, and withdraw to a minimum range of fifty kilometers until this ship achieves hyperspace jump."

"_If I may use your word, sir: preposterous._"

"If my demands are not met within ten minutes, I will personally disembowel your pathetic leader Revan, live on the HoloNet. Am I understood?"

The man took this without a blink. "_Ah. Lord Revan made it aboard, then._"

"He did. Your pathetic Jedi so-called leader has failed, and will soon die, unless you prefer to allow me on my way."

"_Ah,_" the young officer repeated. "_So you will, of course, allow me to speak with him. To, ah, reassure myself that you are not simply—well, to put it charitably—bluffing?_"

"I would not lower myself to lie to the likes of you." Mandalore turned to the comm officer. "Patch into the lead Commander."

The comm officer stroked his screen, then shook his head. "He's not responding, sir."

Mandalore shook his head disgustedly. "Just _show_ the swine then. Bring up my quarters on the security screen."

The security officer stroked his own screen, and made a choking sound. "Hrm, sir?"

"What are you _waiting_ for? Bring it up!"

He'd gone as gray-green as the gunner. "Perhaps you should have a look _first_, sir?"

The plain urgency in his tone brought Mandalore to his side without another word. The Supreme Commander bent over the screen that showed the view inside his quarters and found himself looking at jumpled piles of energy-sheared wreckage surrounding the empty shape of the General's Chair.

And that—that there—that looked like it could have been a body…

Draped in a cape of armorweave. His commander…

Mandalore turned back toward the intership holocomm. "Revan is—indisposed."

"_Ah. I see._"

Mandalore suspected that the young officer saw entirely too well. "I _assure_ you—"

"_I do not require your assurance, Supreme Commander. You have the same amount of time you offered us. Ten minutes from now, I will have either your surrender, or confirmation that Lord Revan is alive, unharmed—and present—or your flagship __**will**__ be destroyed._"

"Wait—you can't simply—"

"_Ten minutes, Commander. Malek out._"

When Mandalore turned to the bridge security officer, his mask was blankly expressionless as ever, but he made up for it with the open murder in his voice.

"The Commander is dead and the Jedi is loose. Find him and bring him to me."

His armored fingers curled into a fist that crashed down on the security console so hard the entire thing collapsed into a sparking, smoking ruin.

"_Find_ him!" Mandalore turned back and sat on his throne, rubbing his armor wearily.

* * *

"Hello, Mandy."

Mandalore whirled around his chair. "So we meet at last, General Revan. I hope my troops didn't give you _too_ much trouble on the way to see me."

Revan smiled. "You seem slightly surprised at my presence here, Mandy. What's wrong? Think that I wouldn't have the guts to face you, man to man?"

Behind Mandalore, came two massive men who Revan had never seen before. At least, they _looked_ like men. They walked side by side, their gait easy and straightforward, almost as smooth as a human's. In fact, they could have _been_ human—humans who were two meters tall and made out of metal. They wore long swirling cloaks that had once been white, but now were stained with smoke and what Revan strongly suspected was blood. They walked with the cloaks thrown back over one shoulder, to clear their left arms, where they held some un-familiar staff-like weapon about two meters long—something like the force-pike of the Senate Guard, but shorter, and with an odd-looking discharge blade at each end.

They walked like they were made to fight, and they had clearly seen some battle. The chest plate of one bore a round shallow crater surrounded by a corona of scorch, a direct blaster hit that hadn't come close to penetrating; the other bore a scar from its cranial dome down through one dead photoreceptor—a scar that looked like it might have come from a lightsaber.

This droid looked like it had fought a Jedi, and survived.

The Jedi, he guessed, hadn't.

These two droids threaded between the battle droids and destroyers and casually shoved aside one battle droid hard enough that it slammed into the wall and collapsed into a sparking heap of metal.

The one with the damaged photoreceptor pointed its staff at him. "Hand over your weapon, _Jedi_!"

This definitely wasn't a preprogrammed security command.

Revan turned towards the droid, and offered his lightsaber to the bodyguard droid.

The droids walked back to Mandalore, and gave him the lightsaber.

Mandalore lifted up the lightsaber, on in his armored duranium hand, to admire it by the light of turbolaser blasts outside, and said, "Quite a rare trophy: the weapon of General Revan. I look forward to adding this to my other trophies."

"That will not happen. I am in control here."

The reply came through Revan's lips, but it was not truly Revan who spoke. Revan was not in control; he had no need for control. He had the Force.

It was the Force that spoke through him.

Mandalore stalked forward. Revan saw death in the cold yellow stare through the mask's eyeholes, and it meant nothing to him at all.

There was no death here. There was only the Force.

Mandalore towered over him. "So confident you are, Revan."

"Not confident, merely calm." From so close, Revan could see the hairline cracks and pitting in the golden mask, and feel the resonance of the Commander's voice humming through the air. He remembered the Question of Master Jrul: _What is good, if not the teacher of bad? What is the bad, if not the task of the good?_

He said, "We can resolve this situation without further violence. I am willing to accept your surrender."

"I'm sure you are." The Golden-mask tilted inquisitively. "Does this preposterous _I-will-accept-your-surrender_ line of yours ever actually _work_?"

"Sometimes. When it doesn't, people get hurt. Sometimes, they _die_." Revan's own yellow eyes hardened considerably, meeting those of Mandalore's behind the mask. "By _people_, in this case, you should understand that I mean _you_."

"I understand enough. I understand that I will kill you." Mandalore threw back his cloak and ignited Revan's lightsaber. "Here. Now. With your own blade."

The Force replied through Revan's lips, "I don't think so."

In the Force, part of him was Mandalore's intent to slaughter, and the surge from intent to action translated to Revan's response without thought. He had no need for a plan, no use for tactics.

He had the Force.

The rush of the fight opened up the long sealed warrior within him. He felt the rush of _fighting._ The adrenaline started to kick in. Laughing coldly, behind his mask of wrought-metal, Revan pushed his cloak back, revealing another lightsaber.

Coldly, Revan summoned it from his belt with the Force, and ignited it. A bar of pure scarlet fire erupted from the blade. "_You will not leave here alive, Mandy,_" Revan hissed. "_Prepare to face the awesome power of the Sith!_"

Mandalore's eyes widened behind his mask. If Revan was truly a Sith Lord, as he was claiming, then Mandalore was in a _lot_ of trouble. He had no experience with using the Force, and he knew that if Revan wanted him dead long ago, it would have happened. It all came down to this one moment.

This time.

This place.

It was the moment Mandalore had been waiting for this entire war. To face an enemy who was _worthy_ of being an adversary. He knew, that if he destroyed Revan, he would bring the entire Republic fleet down to its knees. Of course, there was that pesky problem with Alek Squinquargesimus, or Malak, as he had called himself. Remembering quickly, he lowered the blue lightsaber. "Before we begin, I promised your friend Malak that I would show him that you are alive." Snapping his fingers, he barked to the Mandalorians, "Get Commander Malak online!"

The trembling gray-green-faced Senior gunnery officer stroked his screen, and said, "Right away, sir."

Mandalore stalked over to the officer, and waited for Malak to appear on the security screen.

Finally, a blue-tinted holoscan appeared, with the same man as before. "_Which is it, Commander? Surrender, or Revan?"_

Mandalore scowled, before motioning towards Revan, who had since hidden his lightsaber. No need for Alek to turn on him. "Hello, Squint. Stop firing, but don't get any farther away than you have to. If they begin to fire on you, then start firing back. Understood? Do _not_ allow this ship to escape, under _any_ circumstances."

"_Understood, sir. Good luck, sir. Malak out."_

Revan pulled out his lightsaber again, and motioned towards Mandalore. "Shall we dance?"

"Open _fire!_" Mandalore shook his fists as though each held Revan's neck. "Kill him! _Kill him now!_"

For one more second there was only the scuttle of priming levers on dozens of blasters.

One second after that, the bridge exploded into a firestorm.

Mandalore hung back, crouching, watching for a moment as his two guards waded into the Jedi, electrostaffs whirling through the blinding hail of blasterfire that ricocheted around the bridge. Mandalore had fought Jedi before, sometimes even in open battle, and he had found that fighting any one Jedi was much like fighting any other.

Revan, though—

The ease with which Revan had taken command of the situation was frightening. More frightening was the fact that of the two, Malak was reportedly the greater warrior.

Mandalore was starting to think less about winning this particular encounter than about surviving it.

Let his guards fight the Jedi; that's what they were designed for—and they were doing their jobs well. The first one had pressed Revan back against a console, lightning blazing from his electrostaff's energy shield where it pushed on Revan's blade; the Jedi might have died then and there, except that one of the simple-minded Mandalorians turned both blasters on his back, giving Revan the chance to duck and allow the hammering blaster bolts to slam the droid stumbling backward.

He tapped his jaw sensor to the control frequency for the escape pods; one coded order ensured that his personal pod would be waiting for him with engines hot and system checks complete.

When he looked back to the fight, all he could see of his first droid was one arm, the saber-cut joint still white hot. Revan was in the process of doing the same to the other guard—the guard was hopping on its one remaining leg, whirling its electrostaffs with its one remaining arm, and screeching some improbably threat regarding its staff and Revan's body cavities—and after Revan cut off the arm, the guard went hopping after him, still screeching. The droid actually managed to land one glancing kick before the Jedi casually severed its other leg, after which the limbless torso continued to writhe on the deck, howling.

With both bodyguards down, all eight destroyers opened up, dual cannons erupting gouts of galvened particle beams. The Jedi sighed, and used Force Lightning to override their sensors, destroying them.

Mandalore snatched up one of the electrostaffs as it flew past him. Clicking the power setting to oeverload; it spat lightning around him as he lifted it to combat ready. "I am sorry I don't have time to fight you—it would have been an interesting match—but I have an appointment with an escape pod. And you…"

He pointed at the transparisteel view wall and triggered his own concealed cable-gun; the cable shot out and its grappling claw buried itself in one of the panel supports.

"You," he said, "have an appointment with death."

Revan leapt, and Mandalore hurled the overloading electrostaffs at him.

Revan caught it mid-air with his scarlet blade, and sliced it in half. Yellow eyes narrowing, he frowned behind his mask. "_You seem to have a talent for making me angry._"

Mandalore laughed. "It's what I do—" Mandalore started, but was interrupted by Revan's metal boot to his own gold masked face.

Revan used the Force to pick up Mandalore, and threw him into the service corridor, which lead to the ship's very own melting pit. Mandalore picked himself up, and pulled up his specialized gun, taking aim at Revan.

Revan, with open arms, scarlet blade held in his right hand, wooden wand in his left, floated towards him, feet not touching the ground, as if he were an Angel sent from the heavens. Or rather, a demon sent from Hell.

"_Time to die, Mandy,_" Revan hissed. Abandoning the pretense of observing even the slightest caution, he barreled into Mandalore the Ultimate with such fury that he almost knocked both of them off the ledge and into the abyss. He struck at the Commander with his lightsaber as if his own safety meant nothing, lost in a red haze of rage and frustration.

The Commander was borne backward by the Sith Lord's initial rush, caught off guard by the other's wild assault, and pressed all the way back to the far wall of the melting pit. There he struggled to keep the Sith Lord at bay, trying to open enough space between them to defend himself. Lightsabers scraped and grated against each other, and the chamber echoed with their fury. Lunging and twisting, Mandalore regained the offensive and counterattacked. But Revan was quicker. Anticipating each blow, he was able to elude his antagonist's efforts to bring him down.

The struggle took them around the edge of the melting pit and into the nooks and alcoves beyond, into shadowed recesses and around smoky pillars and pipe housings. Once, Mandalore hammered at him with such determination that he scorched the Sith Lord's tunic, shoulder to waist, and it was only by countering with an up-thrust counter-strike to the other's midsection and by rolling quickly away and back to his feet that Revan was able to escape.

They fought their way back toward the service corridor, and into a tangle of vent tubes and circuit housings. Steam burst from ruptured pipes, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of scorched wiring. Mandalore began to use his larger stature to physically knock Revan away, trying to throw him off balance, to disable him, to disrupt the flow of his attack. Revan responded in kind, and began to use his command of the Force to fling heavy objects at Mandalore. Lightsabers flicked right and left to ward off the objects, and the clash of errant metal careening off metal walls formed an eerie shriek in the gloom.

The battle wore on, and for a time it was fought evenly. But Revan was the stronger of the two and was driven by a frenzy that surpassed even the frantic determination that fueled Mandalore. Eventually, the Sith Lord began to wear Mandalore down. Bit by bit, he pressed him back, carrying the attack to him, looking to catch him off guard. Revan could sense Mandalore's body weakening, and his fear of what it would mean if he, were to fall, began growing inside the Mandalorian's heavily armored chest.

Revan walked slowly to the edge of the melting pit, behind his heavily armored head, his face bathed in seat, eyes wild and bright with joy. The battle was finished. The leader of the Mandalorians was about to be dispatched. He smiled and shifted the scarlet blade from one hand to the other, savoring the moment. Banishing his anger and fear, Revan called upon the last of his reserves. With clarity of purpose and strength of heart, he launched himself away from the side of the pit and catapulted back toward its lip. Imbued with the power of the Force, he cleared the rim easily, somersaulting behind Mandalore in a single smooth, powerful motion.

Mandalore whirled to confront him, shock and rage twisting his hidden face. But before he could act to save himself, Revan's scarlet lightsaber slashed through his chest, burning him with killing scarlet fire. The stricken Mandalorian howled in pain and disbelief.

Then Revan smiled, thumbed his saber off, and watched his dying enemy tumble away into the pit.

_The war is over. Now I can devote my attentions to my __**true**__ purpose… to find the Star Forge, and create an army that will wipe out the corruption of the Republic!_

Bending down, he picked up his blue lightsaber, and clipped it to his belt again.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his comm link that linked him directly to Squint. "Squint. Do you copy?"

There was silence for a moment, before a familiar voice replied. "_Master?_"

"Mandalore is dead. Order the General and Bao-Dur to go with you into my personal ship. Wait for me there."

"_Yes, Master._"

Revan smiled evilly to himself. _Now to destroy the rest of Mandy's crew…_

Stowing his lightsaber away, Revan pulled out his wand. Pointing it towards the ship, he uttered some of the Jedi's most hated and feared words, and some of the Sith's most revered. "**__****Sententia Letum Navitas**_,_" Revan murmured, as he created the powerful weapon of the Sith, known as the Thought Bomb. Taking one last look at the enormous bubble, Revan smiled again. Concentrating with all his might, Revan pictured his personal quarters in his mind. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath, then apparated with a loud crack.

The sound waves caused the thought bomb to continue to follow down the service corridor, where it eventually came to a stop in the bridge. One of the curious Mandalorians fearfully unbuckled himself, and placed his hand upon the bubble.

It exploded, vaporizing all life aboard the ship within a matter of seconds.

* * *

_The Dark side offers power for power's sake._

_You must crave it._

_Covet it._

_You must seek power above all else, with no reservation or hesitation._

* * *

Revan opened his yellow eyes. He was back in his own ship, and he heard the faint explosions from Mandalore's flagship. _Good._

Walking down to his personal ship, the _Ebon Hawk_, which he had already packed full of his private possessions, he walked up the ramp, and closed it behind him. Walking through the small hallways of the ship, he finally came up to the ship's bridge, where he found Squint, Bao-Dur, and the Jedi General waiting.

Taking off his helmet, Revan smiled at each of them. "It's time to go. Strap yourselves in, we're about to make a hyperspace jump."

The _Ebon Hawk_ started to rise, and then, with thrusters put at full-throttle, they sped out of Revan's flagship. Revan turned in his seat, and faced the Jedi General.

"It's time."

The General nodded, and she pulled out the remote that would unleash the power of the Mass Shadow Generator. The General seemed to be having second thoughts, however.

"Sir, are you sure this is what you want to do?" the General asked in a soft, concerned voice.

Revan stared at her coolly. "Yes, I'm sure. Get bloody _on with it so I can take us into hyperspace!_"

The General sighed, and looked down at the seemingly harmless remote, handed it over to him. "I'm sorry sir, I can't do it."

Revan looked at her incredulously before nodding in resigned acceptance. "I can respect that, I suppose." Taking the remote into his armored hands, he pressed the button.

And kicked the _Ebon Hawk_ into hyperdrive, taking them far away from Malachor V. Setting the ship into autopilot, Revan prepared himself for the inevitable soul-wrenching pain that would be delivered through the Force.

Surprisingly, it never came.

At least, not to _him_.

The Jedi General, however, was having something akin to a seizure in her seat. Suddenly, it stopped, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

"General?" Revan asked cautiously. Standing up, he pulled out his wand. Casting a few diagnostic charms, he felt better, knowing that she was only unconscious, and not seriously injured.

The flecks of green that had appeared during his concern, disappeared, as they turned back to the same vile yellow.

"Bao-Dur, I'll drop you and the General off where ever you wish. Alek and I, however, cannot return to Coruscant, not with Lucien Draay on the Jedi High Council. His views have poisoned the Jedi Order, and have set them against us. I can only offer you any protection you might need in the future, and a ride to where you need to be now."

Bao-Dur nodded. "Thank you, Lord Revan."

Revan nodded, and turned around, sitting down on his piloting chair. "Computer, set co-ordinates to…" Revan turned back to look at Bao-Dur.

Clearing his throat, Bao-Dur said, "Dantooine, sir."

Revan nodded, returning his attentions to the controls. "Computer, set co-ordinates for the sector of Dantooine."

* * *

In the main holocomm of the Jedi Temple, high atop the central spire, Obi-Wan used the Force to reach deep within the shell of the recall beacon's mechanism, subtly altering the pulse calibration to flip the signal from _come home_ to _run and hide_. Done without any visible alteration, it would take the troopers quite a while to detect the recalibration, and longer still to reset it. This was all that could be done for any surviving Jedi: a warning, to give them a fighting chance.

Obi-Wan turned from the recall beacon to the internal security scans. He had to find out exactly what he was warning them against.

"Do this not," Yoda said. "Leave we must, before discovered we are."

"I have to _see_ it," Obi-Wan said grimly. "Like I said downstairs: knowing is one thing. Seeing another."

"Seeing will only cause you pain."

"Then it is pain that I have earned. I won't hide from it." He keyed a code that brought up a holoscan of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. "I am not afraid."

Yoda's eyes narrowed to green-gold slits. "You should be."

Stone-faced, Obi-Wan watched younglings run into the room, fleeing a storm of blasterfire; he watched Cin Drallig and a pair of teenage Padawans—was that Whie, the boy Yoda had brought to Vjun?—backing into the scene, blades whirling, cutting down the advancing clone troopers with deflected bolts.

He watched a lightsaber blade flick into the shot, cutting down first one Padawan, then the other. He watched the brisk stride of a caped figure who hacked through Drallig's shoulder, then stood aside as the old Troll fell dying to let the rest of the clones blast the children to shreds.

Obi-Wan's expression never flickered.

He opened himself to what he was about to see; he was prepared, and centered, and trusting in the Force, and yet…

Then the caped man turned to meet a cloaked figure behind him, and he was—

He was—

Obi-Wan, staring, wished that he had the strength to rip his eyes out of his head.

But even blind, he would see this forever.

He would see his friend, his student, his brother, turn and kneel in front of a black-cloaked Lord of the Sith.

"_The traitors have been destroyed, Lord Sidious. And the archives are secured. Our ancient holocrons are again in the hands of the Sith._"

"_Good…good… Together, we shall master every secret of the Force._" The Sith Lord purred like a contented rancor. "_You have done well, my new apprentice. Do you feel your power growing?_"

"_Yes, my Master_."

"_Lord Vader, your skills are unmatched by any Sith before you. Go forth, my boy. Go forth, and bring peace to our Empire._"

Fumbling nervelessly, Obi-Wan somehow managed to shutdown the holoscan. He leaned on the console, but his arms would not support him; they buckled and he twisted to the floor.

He huddled against the console, blind with pain.

Yoda was as sympathetic as the root of a wroshyr tree. "Warned, you were."

Obi-Wan said, "I should have let them _shoot_ me…"

"What?"

"No. That was already too late—it was already too late at Geonosis. The Zabrak, on Naboo-I should have died _there_… before I ever _brought_ him here—"

"_Stop_ this, you will!" Yoda gave him a stick-jab in the ribs sharp enough to straighten him up. "_Make_ a Jedi fall, one cannot; beyond even Lord Sidious, this is. _Chose_ this, Skywalker did."

Obi-Wan lowered his head. "And I'm afraid I might know why."

"Why? _Why _matters not. There is no _why_. There is only a Lord of the Sith, and his apprentice. Two Sith." Yoda leaned close. "And two Jedi."

Obi-Wan nodded, but he still couldn't meet the gaze of the ancient Master. "I'll take Palpatine."

"Strong enough to face Lord Sidious, you will never be. Die you will, and painfully."

"Don't make me kill Anakin," he said. "He's like my _brother_, Master."

"The boy you trained, gone he is—twisted by the dark side. Consumed by Darth Vader. Out of this misery, you must put him. To visit our new Emperor, _my_ job will be."

Now Obi-Wan did face him. "Palpatine faced Mace and Agen and Kit and Saesee—four of the greatest swordsmen our Order has ever produced. By _himself_. Eve both of us together wouldn't have a chance."

"True," Yoda said. "But both of us apart, a chance we might _create_…"

* * *

A/N: Happy Harry Potter Day (Cause its July 31st haha)!Here's the second chapter of the week! Again, I apologize for that super long month wait, and hopefully this chapter makes up for some of it. Okay, Read and Review, but no flames please!

Beggs


	7. Emergence of the Emperor

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for another long delay, I've been a little busy, with school and everything! So ummm here's chapter (what is it now? Something like 7 I think…) Seven! Enjoy!

* * *

_Stowing his lightsaber away, Revan pulled out his wand. Pointing it towards the ship, he uttered some of the Jedi's most hated and feared words, and some of the Sith's most revered. "**Sententia Letum Navitas**__," Revan murmured, as he created the powerful weapon of the Sith, known as the Thought Bomb. Taking one last look at the enormous bubble, Revan smiled again. Concentrating with all his might, Revan pictured his personal quarters in his mind. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath, then apparated with a loud crack._

_The sound waves caused the thought bomb to continue to follow down the service corridor, where it eventually came to a stop in the bridge. One of the curious Mandalorians fearfully unbuckled himself, and placed his hand upon the bubble._

_It exploded, vaporizing all life aboard the ship within a matter of seconds._

* * *

_"Why? __**Why** matters not. There is no **why**. There is only a Lord of the Sith, and his apprentice. Two Sith." Yoda leaned close. "And two Jedi."_

_Obi-Wan nodded, but he still couldn't meet the gaze of the ancient Master. "I'll take Palpatine."_

_"Strong enough to face Lord Sidious, you will never be. Die you will, and painfully."_

_"Don't make me kill Anakin," he said. "He's like my **brother**, Master."_

_"The boy you trained, gone he is—twisted by the dark side. Consumed by Darth Vader. Out of this misery, you must put him. To visit our new Emperor, **my** job will be."_

_Now Obi-Wan did face him. "Palpatine faced Mace and Agen and Kit and Saesee—four of the greatest swordsmen our Order has ever produced. By **himself**. Eve both of us together wouldn't have a chance."_

_"True," Yoda said. "But both of us apart, a chance we might **create**…"_

* * *

**Chapter Seven:  
Emergence of the Emperor**

* * *

There was a grand parade the following day of Mandalore's defeat to publicly recognize the newfound celebrities Revan and Alek, who had labored and sacrificed so much during the war effort, and to also honor those who had fought to secure the galaxy's freedom. Crowds lined the streets of Coruscant as columns of Coruscanti and Republic soldiers rode through the city to the sounds of cheering and singing. Fambaa lumbered down the avenues, draped in rich silks and embroidered harnesses, heads weaving from side to side on long necks. Here and there, a captured Mandalorian tank hovered amidst the marchers, Republic and Revanchist flags flying from cannons and hatchways.

The Supreme Chancellor and several Senators, along with Jedi Masters from the Council stood at the top of the stone steps in the central plaza, watching the parade approach. The Chancellor's head of security uniform was creased, metal insignia on his epaulets gleaming, proud and strong.

Then the news reports started to trickle in—only rumors at first—that Revan and all that had followed him were lost into deep space. Most likely dead, if not worse.

Revan, the most admired man in the galaxy, whose unmatched strength and diplomatic skills have held the Republic together. Whose personal integrity and courage proved that the Mandalorian threat against the Republic wasn't such a big threat after all.

Across the remnants of the Republic, stunned beings watched in horror as the story unfolded live on the HoloNet. Everyone knew the war was over. Everyone knew that the Jedi and soldiers were coming home soon. But this—

How could this _happen_?

What had gone _wrong?_

Sorrow and fear crept into the many beings' hearts. If Revan was gone… who would protect them the next time they were in trouble?

All across the galaxy, beings gazed up at the now frozen image on the HoloNet.

One specifically, had to steady her gaze upon the monitor. A single tear slid down her pale, slender, human cheeks, as she gripped the sides of the table she was sitting at. "Revan…" she whispered softly. "Why?"

* * *

C-3PO identified the craft docking on the veranda as a DC0052 Intergalactic Speeder; to be on the safe side; he left the security curtain engaged.

In these troubled times, safety outweighed courtesy, even for him.

A cloaked and hooded human male emerged from the DC0052 and approached the veil of energy. C-3PO moved to meet him. "Hello, may I help you?"

The human lifted his hands to his hood; instead of taking it down, he folded it back far enough that C-3PO could register the distinctive relationship of eyes, nose, mouth, and beard.

"Master Kenobi!" C-3PO had long ago been given detailed and quite specific instructions on the procedure for dealing with the unexpected arrival of furtive Jedi.

He instantly deactivated the security curtain and beckoned. "Come inside, quickly. You may be seen."

As C-3PO swiftly ushered him into the sitting room, Master Kenobi asked, "Has Anakin been here?"

"Yes," C-3PO said reluctantly. "He arrived shortly after he and the army saved the Republic from the Jedi Rebellion—"

He cut himself off when he noticed that Master Kenobi suddenly looked fully prepared to dismantle him bolt by bolt. Perhaps he should not have been so quick to let the Jedi in.

Wasn't he some sort of outlaw, now?

"I, ah, I should—" C-3PO stammered, backing away. "I'll just go get the Senator, shall I? She's been lying down—after the Grand Convocation this morning, she didn't feel entirely well, and so—"

The Senator appeared at the top of the curving stairway, belting a soft robe over her dressing gown, and C-3PO decided his most appropriate course of action would be to discreetly withdraw.

But not too far; if Master Kenobi was up to mischief, C-3PO had to be in a position to alert Captain Typho and the security staff on the spot.

Senator Amidala certainly didn't seem inclined to _treat _Master Kenobi as a dangerous outlaw…

Quite the contrary, in fact: she seemed to have fallen into his arms, and her voice was thoroughly choked with emotion as she expressed a possibly inappropriate level of joy at finding the Jedi still alive.

There followed some discussion that C-3PO didn't entirely understand; it was political information entirely outside his programming, having to do with Master Anakin, and the Republic having fallen, whatever that meant, and with something called a Sith Lord, and Chancellor Palpatine, and the dark side of the Force, and really, he couldn't make sense of any of it. The only parts he clearly understood had to do with the Jedi Order being outlawed and all but wiped out (that news had been all over the Lipartian Way this morning) and the not-altogether-unexpected revelation that Master Kenobi had come here seeking Master Anakin. They _were_ partners, after all (though despite all their years together, Master Anakin's recent behavior made it sadly clear that Master Kenobi's lovely manners had entirely failed to rub off).

"When was the last time you saw him? Do you know where he is?"

C-3PO's photoreceptors registered he Senator's flush as she lowered her eyes and said, "No."

Three years running the household of a career politician stopped C-3PO from popping back out and reminding the Senator that Master Anakin had told her just yesterday he was on his way to Mustafar; he knew very well that the Senator's memory failed only when she decided it should.

"Padme, you must help me," Master Kenobi said. "Anakin must be found. He must be stopped."

"How can you _say_ that?" She pulled back from him and turned away, folding her arms over the curve of her belly. "He's just won the war!"

"The war was never the Republic against the Separatists. It was Palpatine against the Jedi. We lost. The rest of it was just play-acting."

"It was real enough for everyone who _died_!"

"Yes." Now it was Master Kenobi's turn to lower his eyes. "Including the children at the Temple."

"What?"

"They were _murdered_, Padme. I saw it." He took her shoulders and turned her back to face him. "They were murdered by _Anakin_."

"It's a _lie_—" She pushed him away forcefully enough that C-3PO almost triggered the security alert then and there, but Master Kenobi only regarded her with an expression that matched C-3PO's internal recognition files of sadness and pity. "He could _never_… he could never… not my Anakin…"

Master Kenobi's voice was soft and slow. "He must be found."

Her reply was even softer; C-3PO's aural sensor barely recorded it at all.

"You've decided to kill him."

Master Kenobi said gravely, "He has become a very great threat."

At this, the Senator's medical condition seemed to finally overcome her; her knees buckled, and Master Kenobi was forced to catch her and help her onto the sofa. Apparently Master Kenobi knew somewhat more about human physiology than did C-3PO; though his photoreceptors hadn't been dark to the on-going changes in Senator Amidala's contour, C-3PO had no idea what they might signify.

At any rate, Master Kenobi seemed to comprehend the situation instantly. He settled her comfortably onto the sofa and stood frowning down at her.

"Anakin is the father, isn't he?"

The Senator looked away. Her eyes were leaking again.

The Jedi Master said, hushed, "I'm very sorry, Padme. If it could be different…"

"Go away, Obi-Wan. I won't help you. I can't." She turned her face away. "I won't help you kill him."

Master Kenobi said again, "I'm very sorry," and left.

C-3PO tentatively returned to the sitting room, intending to inquire after the Senator's health, but before he could access a sufficiently delicate phrase to open the discussion, the Senator said softly, "Threepio? Do you know what this is?"

She lifted toward him the pendant that hung from the cord of jerba leather she always wore around her neck.

"Why, yes, my lady," the protocol droid replied, bemused but happy, as always to be of service. "It's a snippet of japor. Younglings on Tatooine carve tribal runes into them to make amulets; they are supposed by superstitious folk to bring good fortune and protect one from harm, and sometimes are thought to be love charms. I must say, my lady, I'm quite surprised _you've_ forgotten, seeing as how you've worn that one ever since it was given to you so many years ago by Master An—"

"I hadn't forgotten what it was, Threepio," she said distantly. "Thank you. I was… reminding myself of the boy who gave it to me."

"My lady?" If she hadn't forgotten, why would she ask? Before C-3PO could phrase a properly courteous interrogative, she said, "Contact Captain Typho. Have him ready my skiff."

"My lady? Are you going somewhere?"

"_We_ are," she said. "We're going to Mustafar."

* * *

From the shadows beneath the mirror-polished skiff's landing ramp, Obi-Wan Kenobi watched Captain Typho try to talk her out of it.

"My lady," the Naboo security chief protested, "at least let me come _with_ you—"

"Thank you, Captain, but there's no need," Padme said distantly. "The war's over, and… this is a _personal_ errand. And, Captain? It must _remain_ personal, do you understand? You know nothing of my leaving, nor where I am bound, nor when I can be expected to return."

"As you wish, my lady," Typho said with a reluctant bow. "But I _strongly_ disagree with this decision."

"I'll be fine, Captain. After all, I have Threepio to look after me."

Obi-Wan could clearly hear the droid's murmured "Oh, dear."

After Typho finally climbed into his speeder and took off, Padme and her droid boarded the skiff. She wasted no time at all; the skiff's repulsorlifts engaged before the landing ramp had even retracted.

Obi-Wan had to jump for it.

He swung inside just as the hatch sealed itself and the gleaming starship leapt for the sky.

* * *

Darth Vader stood on the command bridge of the Mustafar control center, hand of durasteel clasping hand of flesh behind him, and gazed up through the transparisteel view wall at the galaxy he would one day rule.

He paid no attention to the litter of corpses around his feet.

He could feel his power growing, indeed. He had the measure of his "Master" already; not long after Palpatine shared the secret of Darth Plagueis's discovery, their relationship would undergo a sudden… transformation.

A fatal transformation.

Everything was proceeding according to plan.

And yet…

He couldn't shake a certain creeping sensation… a kind of cold, slimy ooze that slithered up the veins of his legs and spread clammy tendrils through his guts…

Almost as though he was still _afraid_…

_She will die, you know,_ the dragon whispered.

He shook himself, scowling. Impossible. He was Darth Vader. Fear had no power over him. He had destroyed his fear.

_All things die._

Yet it was as though when he had crushed the dragon under his boot, the dragon had sunk venomed fangs into his heel.

Now its poison chilled him to the bone.

_Even stars burn out._

He shook himself again and strode toward the holocomm. He would talk to his Master.

Palpatine had always helped him keep the dragon down.

* * *

A comlink chimed.

Yoda opened his eyes in the darkness.

"Yes, Master Kenobi?"

"_We're landing now. Are you in position?_"

"Yes I am."

A moment of silence.

"_Master Yoda… if we don't see each other again—"_

"Think not of _after_, Obi-Wan. Always no, even eternity will be."

Another moment of silence.

Longer.

"_May the Force be with you."_

"It is. And may the Force be with you, young Obi-Wan."

The transmission ended.

Yoda rose.

A gesture opened the grating of the vent shaft where he had waited in meditation, revealing the vast conic well that was the Grand Convocation Chamber of the Galactic Senate. It was sometimes called the Senate Arena.

Today, this nickname would be particularly apt.

Yoda stretched blood back into his green flesh.

This was his time.

Nine hundred years of study and training, of teaching and of meditation, all now focused, and refined, and resolved into this single moment; the sole purpose of his vast span of existence had been to prepare him to enter the heart of night and bring his light against the darkness.

He adjusted the angle of his blade against his belt.

He draped his robe across his shoulders.

With reverence, with gratitude, without fear, and without anger, Yoda went forth to war.

* * *

_Eighteen years have passed since the disappearance of Revan, and the emergence of the Dark Emperor Revan, with his apprentice Darth Malak at his side.

* * *

_

That night Revan stood alone on his flagship's bridge, a shadowy figure amid the multitude of twinkling lights, his visage dark and angry as he contemplated the future of the empire he envisioned. Years of training had gone into the preparation of Darth Malak as a Sith Lord. He had been more than equal of the Jedi Knights he had faced and should be able to hold his own with Revan there by his side. However…

His brow furrowed. It would be necessary to replace Darth Malak. He would need to train another apprentice. Such a one would not be easy to find, but Malak was showing signs of betrayal and rage towards Revan.

Revan walked to the railing and put his hands on the cool metal. One thing was certain. Those who had opposed him would not be forgotten. All would be made to pay.

His eyes glittered. Still, he had gotten what he wanted most from this business. Even the loss of Darth Malak was worth that. He would bide his time. He would wait for his chance. He would lay the groundwork for what was needed.

A smile played across his thin lips, his yellowed eyes gleaming with an evil light. A day of reckoning would come about soon enough.

And the Dark Side would destroy any who stood in his way.

* * *

A silvery flash outside caught Darth Vader's eye, as though an elegantly curved mirror swung through the smoke and cinders, picking up the shine of white-hot lava. From one knee, he could look right through the holoscan of his Master while he continued his report.

He was no longer afraid; he was too busy pretending to be respectful.

"The Separatist leadership is no more, my Master."

"_It is finished, then._" The image offered a translucent mockery of a smile. "_You have restored peace and justice to the galaxy, Lord Vader._"

"That is my sole ambition, Master."

The image tilted its head, its smile twisting without transition to a scowl. "_Lord Vader—I sense a disturbance in the Force. You may be in danger._"

He glanced at the mirror flash outside; he knew that ship. _In danger of being kissed to death, perhaps…_

"How should I be in danger, Master?"

"_I cannot say. But the danger is real; be mindful._"

_Be mindful, be mindful,_ he thought with a mental sneer. _Is that the best you can do? I could get that much from Obi-Wan…_

"I will, my Master. Thank you."

The image faded.

He got to his feet, and now the sneer was on his lips and in his eyes. "You're the one who should be _mindful_, my 'Master'. I _am_ a disturbance in the Force."

Outside, the sleek skiff settled to the deck. He spent a moment reassembling his Anakin Skywalker face: he let Anakin Skywalker's love flow through him, let Anakin Skywalker's glad smile come to his lips, let Anakin Skywalker's youthful energy bring a joyous bounce to his step as he trotted to the entrance over the mess of corpses and severed body parts.

He'd meet her outside, and he'd keep her outside. He had a feeling she wouldn't approve of the way he had… redecorated… the control center.

_And after all,_ he thought with a mental shrug,_ there's no arguing taste…

* * *

_

The Burnished conference table was as soulless and unyielding as the mood of the eight Republic Senators and Dark Jedi ranged around it. Imperial troopers stood guard at the entrance to the chamber, which was sparse and coldly lit from lights in the table and walls. One of the youngest of the eight was declaiming. He exhibited the attitude of one who had climbed far and fast by methods best not examined too closely. He was a General, who did possess a certain twisted genius, but it was only partly that ability which had lifted him to his present exalted position. Other noisome talents had proven equally efficacious.

Though his uniform was as neatly molded and his body as clean as anyone else in the room, none of the remaining seven cared to touch him. A certain sliminess clung cloyingly to him, a sensation inferred rather than tactile. Despite this, many respected him. Or feared him.

"I tell you, he's gone too far this time," the General was insisting vehemently. "This Sith Lord inflicted on us at the urging of Lord Revan will be our undoing. Until the Star Forge is _fully_ operational, we remain vulnerable.

"Some of you still don't seem to realize how well equipped and organized the Republic is. Their vessels are excellent, their pilots better. And they are propelled by something more powerful than mere engines: this perverse, reactionary fanaticism of theirs. They're more dangerous than most of you realize."

An older officer, with facial scars so deeply engraved that even the best cosmetic surgery could not fully repair them, shifted nervously in his chair. "Dangerous to your Starfleet, General, but not to this battle station." Wizened eyes hopped from man to man, traveling around the table. "I happen to think Lord Revan knows what he's doing. The Republic will continue only as long as those cowards have a sanctuary, a place where their pilots can relax and their machines can be repaired."

The General objected. "I beg to differ with you. I think the renovation of this station has more to do with Lord Revan's bid for personal power and recognition than with any justifiable military strategy. Within the Empire, the Republic will continue to increase their support as long—"

The sound of the single doorway sliding aside and the guards snapping to attention cut him off. His head turned as did everyone else's.

Two individuals as different in appearance as they were united in objectives had entered the chamber. The nearest to the General was a tall, fully robed and armored man, with only his gleaming yellow eyes visible from the helmet beneath the hood. Lord Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, and Emperor of the Sith Empire. Standing next to him was the broad, armored bulk of Lord Darth Malak.

The General, unintimidated but subdued, slowly resumed his seat as Revan assumed his place at the end of the conference table. Malak stood next to him, a dominating presence behind the Emperor's chair. For a minute Revan stared directly at the General, then glanced away as if he had seen nothing. The general fumed, but remained silent.

As Revan's gaze roved around the table a razor-thin smile of satisfaction remained frozen in his features. Not that anyone could see them. "The Republic will no longer be of any concern to us, gentlemen. I have just received word that the attack on Telos IV was successful."

A ripple of astonishment ran through the assembly. "Soon," Revan continued, "The Republic will finally be swept away."

"This is impossible," the General interjected. "What of the Jedi?"

"If the Republic somehow managed to gain access to a complete technical schema of this battle station, it is remotely possible that they might be able to locate a weakness susceptible to minor exploitation." Revan's yellow eyes gleamed with mirth. "Of course, we all know how well guarded, how carefully protected, such vital data is. It could not possibly fall into Republic hands."

"The technical data to which you are obliquely referring," rumbled Darth Malak angrily, "hasn't been leaked, and—"

Revan shook the Dark Lord off, something no one else at the table would have dared to do. "It is immaterial. Any attack made against this station by the Republic would be a suicidal gesture, suicidal and useless—regardless of any information they managed to obtain."

Darth Malak stared at Lord Revan for a moment, before speaking. "After many long years of secretive reconstruction and searching," he declared with evident pleasure, "this station has become the decisive force in this part of the universe. Events in this region of the galaxy will no longer be determined by fate, by decree, or by any other agency. They will be decided by this station!"

A huge metal-clad hand gestured slightly, and one of the filled cups on the table drifted responsively into it. With a slightly admonishing tone Revan continued. "Don't become too proud of this technological terror we've spawned, Malak. The ability to construct entire armies is still insignificant when set against the Force."

" 'The Force,' " the General sneered. "Don't try to frighten _us_ with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Revan. Your sad devotion to that mythology has not gifted you with clairvoyance sufficient to locate the Republic's hidden fortresses. Why, it's enough to make one laugh fit to—"

The General's eyes abruptly bulged and his hands went to his throat as he began to turn a disconcerting shade of blue.

"I find," Malak ventured mildly, "this lack of faith disturbing."

"Enough of this," Revan snapped. "Malak, release him. This bickering amongst ourselves is pointless."

Malak shrugged as if it were no consequence. The General slumped in his seat, rubbing his throat, his wary gaze never leaving the dark giant.

"Lord Malak will provide us with the location of the hidden Republic Fortress by the time this station is certified operational," Revan declared. "That known, we will proceed to it and destroy it utterly, crushing this pathetic excuse for a government in one swift stroke." With that, Revan stood from his seated position, and swept out of the conference room.

"As the Emperor wills it," Malak added, not without sarcasm, "so shall it be."

If any of the powerful men seated around the table found this disrespectful tone objectionable, a glance at the General was sufficient to dissuade them from mentioning it.

* * *

The holding office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic comprised the nether vertex of the Senate Arena; it was little more than a circular preparations area, a green room, where guests of the Chancellor might be entertained before entering the Senate Podium—the circular pod on its immense hydraulic pillar, which contained controls that coordinated the movement of floating Senate delegation pods—and rising into the focal point of the chamber above.

Above that podium, the vast holopresence of a kneeling Sith bowed before a shadow that stood below. Guards in scarlet flanked the shadow; a Chagrian toady cringed nearby.

"But the danger is real; be mindful."

"_I will, my Master. Thank you._"

The holopresence faded, and where its huge translucency had knelt was now revealed another presence, a physical presence, tiny and aged, clad in robes and leaning on a twist of wood. But his physical presence was an illusion; the truth of him could be seen only in the Force.

In the Force, he was a fountain of light.

"Pity your new disciple I do; so lately an apprentice, so soon without a Master."

"Why, Master Yoda, what a delightful surprise! Welcome!" The voice of the shadow hummed with anticipation. "Let me be the first to wish you Happy Empire Day!"

"Find it happy, you will not. Nor will the murderer you call Vader."

"Ah." The shadow stepped closer "So _that_ is the threat I felt. Who is it, if I may ask? Who have you sent to kill him?"

"Enough it is that you know your _own_ destroyer."

"Oh, pish, Master Yoda. It wouldn't be Kenobi, would it? _Please_ say its Kenobi—Lord Vader gets such a thrill from killing people who care for him…"

Behind the shadow, some meters away, Mas Amedda—the Chagrian toady who was Speaker of the Galactic Senate—heard a whisper in Palpatine's voice. _Flee_.

He did.

Neither light nor shadow gave his exit a glance.

"So easily slain, Obi-Wan is not."

"Neither are you, apparently; but that is about to change."

The shadow took another step, and another.

A lightsaber appeared, green as sunlight in a forest. "The test of that, today will be."

"Even a fraction of the dark side is more power than your Jedi arrogance can conceive; living in the light, you have never seen the depth of the darkness."

The shadow spread arms that made its sleeves into black wings.

"Until now."

Lightning speared from outstretched hands, and the battle was on.

* * *

Padme stumbled down the landing ramp into Anakin's arms.

Her eyes were raw and numb; once inside the ship, her emotional control had finally shattered and she had sobbed the whole way there, crying from the relentless mind-shredding dread, and so her lips were swollen and her whole body shook and she was just so _grateful_, so incredibly grateful, that again she flooded with fresh tears: grateful that he was alive, grateful that he'd come bounding across the landing deck to meet her, that he was still strong and beautiful, that his arms still were warm around her and his lips were soft against her hair.

"Anakin, my _Anakin_…" She shivered against his chest. "I've been so _frightened_…"

"Shh. Shh, it's all right." He stroked her hair until her trembling began to fade, then he cupped her chin and gently raised her face to look into his eyes. "You never need to worry about me. Didn't you understand? No one can hurt me. No one will ever hurt either of us."

"It wasn't that, my love, it was—oh, Anakin, he said such terrible things about you!"

He smiled down at her. "About me? Who would want to say bad things about me?" He chuckled. "Who would dare?"

"Obi-Wan." She smeared tears from her cheeks. "He said—he told me you turned to the dark side, that you murdered Jedi… even _younglings_…"

Just having gotten the words out made her feel better; now all she had to do was rest in his arms while he held her and hugged her and promised her he would never do anything like any of that, and she started half a smile aimed up toward his eyes—

But instead of the light of love in his eyes, she saw only reflections of lava.

He didn't say, _I could never turn to the dark side._

He didn't say, _Murder younglings? Me? That's just crazy._

He said, "Obi-Wan's _alive_?"

His voice had dropped an octave, and had gone colder than the chills that were spreading from the base of her spine.

"Y-yes—he, he said he was looking for you…"

"Did you tell him where I am?"

"_No_, Anakin! He wants to _kill_ you. I didn't tell him _anything_—I wouldn't!"

"Too bad."

"Anakin, what—"

"He's a traitor, Padme. He's an enemy of the state. He has to die."

"Stop it," she said. "Stop _talking_ like that… you're frightening me!"

"You're not the one that needs to be afraid."

"It's like—it's like—" Tears brimmed again. "I don't even know who you _are_ anymore…"

"I'm the man who _loves_ you," he said, but he said it through clenched teeth. "I'm the man who would do _anything_ to protect you. _Everything_ I have done, I have done for _you_."

"Anakin…" Horror squeezed her voice down to a whisper: small, and fragile, and very young. "…what _have_ you done?"

And she prayed that he wouldn't actually answer.

"What I have done is bring _peace_ to the Republic."

"The Republic is _dead_," she whispered. "You killed it. You and Palpatine."

"It needed to die."

New tears started, but they didn't matter; she'd never have enough tears for this. "Anakin, can't we just… _go_? Please. Let's leave. Together. Today. Now. Before you—before something happens—"

"Nothing will happen. Nothing _can_ happen. _Let_ Palpatine call himself Emperor. Let him. He can do the dirty work, all the messy, brutal oppression it'll take to unite the galaxy forever—unite it _against_ him. He'll make himself into the most hated man in history. And when the time is right, we'll throw him _down_—"

"Anakin, stop—"

"Don't you see? We'll be _heroes_. The whole galaxy will _love_ us, and we will _rule_. _Together._"

"Please stop—Anakin, please, stop, I can't _stand_ it…"

He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking past her shoulder.

Feral joy burned from his eyes, and his face was no longer human.

"_You_…"

From behind her, calmly precise, with that clipped Coruscanti accent: "Padme. Move away from him."

"Obi-Wan?" She whirled, and he was on the landing ramp, still and sad. "_No!_"

"_You_," growled a voice that should have been her love's.

"You _brought_ him here…"

She turned back, and now he _was_ looking at her.

His eyes were full of flame.

"Anakin?"

"Padme, move _away_." There was an urgency in Obi-Wan's voice that sounded closer to fear than Padme had ever heard from him. "He's not who you think he is. He _will_ harm you."

Anakin's lips peeled off his teeth. "I would thank you for this, if it were a gift of love."

Trembling, shaking her head, she began to back away. "No, Anakin—no…"

"Palpatine was right. Sometimes it is the closet who cannot see. I loved you too much, Padme."

He made a fist, and she couldn't breathe.

"I loved you too much to _see_ you! To see what you _are_!"

A veil of red descended on the world. She clawed at her throat, but there was nothing there her hands could touch.

"Let her go, Anakin."

His answer was a predator's snarl, over the body of its prey. "You will not take her from me!"

She wanted to scream, to beg, to howl, _No, Anakin, I'm sorry! I'm sorry… I love you…_, but her locked throat strangled the truth inside her head, and the world-veil of red smoked toward black.

"Let her go!"

"_Never!_"

The ground fell away beneath her, and then a white flash of impact blasted her into night.

* * *

In the Senate Arena, lightning forked from the hands of a Sith, and bent away from the gesture of a Jedi to shock Redrobes into unconsciousness.

Then there were only the two of them.

Their clash transcended the personal; when new lightning blazed, it was not Palpatine burning Yoda with his hate, it was the Lord of all Sith scorching the Master of all Jedi into a smoldering huddle of clothing and green flesh.

A thousand years of hidden Sith exulted in their victory.

"Your time is _over_! The _Sith_ rule the galaxy! Now and _forever_!"

And it was the whole of the Jedi Order that rocketed from its huddle, making of its own body a weapon to blast the Sith to the ground.

"At an end your rule is, and not short enough it was, I must say."

There appeared a blade the color of life.

From the shadow of a black wing, a small weapon—a holdout, an easily concealed backup, a tiny bit of treachery expressing the core of Sith mastery—slid into a withered hand and spat a flame-colored blade of its own.

When those blades met, it was more than Yoda against Palpatine, more than the millennia of Sith against the legions of Jedi; this was the expression of the fundamental conflict of the universe itself.

Light against dark.

Winner take all.

* * *

Obi-Wan knelt beside Padme's unconscious body, where she lay limp and broken in the smoky dusk. He felt for a pulse. It was thin, and erratic. "Anakin—Anakin, what have you _done_?"

In the Force, Anakin burned like a fusion torch. "You turned her against me."

Obi-wan looked at the best friend he had ever had. "You did that yourself," he said sadly.

"I'll give you a chance, Obi-Wan. For old times' sake. Walk away."

"If only I could."

"Go some place out of the way. Retire. Meditate. That's what you like, isn't it? You don't have to fight for peace anymore. Peace is _here_. My Empire _is_ peace."

"_Your_ Empire? It will _never_ have peace. It was founded on treachery and innocent blood."

"Don't make me kill you, Obi-Wan. If you are not with me, you are against me."

"Only Sith deal in absolutes, Anakin. The truth is never black and white." He rose, spreading empty hands. "Let me take Padme to a medcenter. She's hurt, Anakin. She needs medical attention."

"She stays."

"Anakin—"

"_You_ don't get to take her _anywhere_. You don't get to _touch_ her. She's _mine_, do you understand? It's _your_ fault, _all_ of it—you made her _betray_ _me_!"

"Anakin—"

Anakin's hand sprouted a bar of blue plasma.

Obi-Wan sighed.

He brought out his own lightsaber and angled it before him. "Then I will do what I must."

"You'll try," Anakin said, and leapt.

Obi-Wan met him in the air.

Blue blades crossed, and the volcano above echoed their lightning with a shout of fire.

* * *

C-3PO cautiously poked his head around the rim of the skiff's hatch.

Though his threat-avoidance subroutines were in full screaming overload, and all he really wanted to be doing was finding some nice dark closet in which to fold himself and power down until this was all over—preferably an _armored_ closet, with a door that locked from the inside, or could be welded shut (he wasn't particular on that point)—he found himself nonetheless creeping down the skiff's landing ramp into what appeared to be a perfectly appalling rain of molten _lava_ and burning _cinders_…

Which was an entirely ridiculous thing for any sensible droid to be doing, but he kept going because he hadn't liked the sound of those conversations at all.

Not one little bit.

He couldn't be entirely certain what the disagreement among the humans was concerned with, but one element had been entirely clear.

_She's hurt, Anakin… she needs medical attention…_

He shuffled out into the swirling smoke. Burning rocks clattered around him. The Senator was nowhere to be seen, and even if he could find her, he had no idea how he could get her back to her ship—he certainly had not been designed for transporting anything heavier than a tray of cocktails; after all, weight-bearing capability was what _cargo_ droids were for—but through the volcano's roar and gust of wind, his sonoreceptors picked up a familiar _ferooo-wheep peroo_, which his autotranslation protocol converted to **DON'T WORRY. YOU'LL BE ALL RIGHT**.

"Artoo?" C-3PO called. "Artoo, are you out here?"

A few steps more and C-3PO could see the little astromech: he'd tangled his manipulator arm in the Senator's clothing and was dragging her across the landing deck. "Artoo! Stop that this instant! You'll damage her!"

R2-D2's dome swiveled to bring his photoreceptor to bear on the nervous protocol droid. "**WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU SUGGEST?**" it whistled.

"Well… oh, all right. We'll do it together."

* * *

There came a turning point in the clash of the light against the dark.

It did not come from a flash of lightning or slash of energy blade, though there were these in plenty; it did not come from a flying kick or a surgically precise punch, though these were traded, too.

It came as the battle shifted from the holding office to the great Chancellor's Podium; it came as the hydraulic lift beneath the Podium raised it on its tower of durasteel a hundred meters and more, so that it became a laserpoint of battle flaring at the focus of the vast emptiness of the Senate Arena; it came as the Force and the podium's controls ripped delegation pods free of the curving walls and made of them hammers, battering rams, catapult stones crashing and crushing against each other in a rolling thunder-roar that echoed the Senate's cheers for the galaxy's new Emperor.

It came when the avatar of light resolved into the lineage of the Jedi; when the lineage of the Jedi refined into one single Jedi.

It came when Yoda found himself alone against the dark.

In that lightning-speared tornado of feet and fists and blades and bashing machines, his vision finally pierced the darkness that had clouded the Force.

Finally, he saw the truth.

This truth: that he, the avatar of light, Supreme Master of the Jedi Order, the fiercest, most implacable, most devastatingly powerful foe that darkness had ever known…

Just—

Didn't—

_Have_ it.

He'd never had it. He had lost before he started.

He had lost before he was born.

The Sith had changed. The Sith had grown, had adapted, had invested a thousand years' intensive study into every aspect of not only the Force but Jedi lore itself, in preparation for exactly this day. The Sith had remade themselves.

They had become _new_.

While the Jedi—

The Jedi had spent that same millennium training to refight the _last_ war.

The new Sith could not be destroyed with a lightsaber; they could not be burned away by any torch of the Force. The brighter his light, the darker their shadow. How could one win a war against the dark, when war itself had become the dark's own weapon?

He knew, at that instant, that this insight held the hope of the galaxy. But if he fell here, that hope would die with him.

_Hmmm_, Yoda thought. _A problem, this is…

* * *

_

Darth Malak stepped out of the long, cylindrical elevator into what had been the Star Forge control room, and now was the Emperor's throne room. Two Dark Jedi stood either side of the door, robed from neck to toe, helmets covering all but eyeslits that were actually electrically modified view-screens. Their weapons were always drawn.

The room was dim except for the light cables running either side of the elevator shaft, carrying power and information through the space station. Malak walked across the sleek black steel floor, past the humming giant converter engines, up the short flight of steps to the platform level upon which sat the Emperor's throne. Beneath this platform, off to the right, was the mouth of the shaft that delved deeply into the pit of the battle station, down to the very core of the power unit. The chasm was black, and reeked of ozone, and echoed continuously in a low, hollow rumble.

At the end of the overhanging platform was a wall, in the wall, a huge circular observation window. Sitting in an elaborate control-chair before the window, staring out into space, was the Emperor himself.

The other half of the Star Forge could be seen immediately beyond the window, shuttles and transports buzzing around it, men with tight-suits and rocket packs doing exterior construction or surface work. In the near-distance beyond all this activity was the lush, blue planet Lehon, resting like a jewel on the black velvet of space—and scattered to infinity, the gleaming diamonds that were the stars.

The Emperor sat, regarding this view, as Malak approached from behind. The Lord of the Sith kneeled and waited. The Emperor let him wait. He perused the vista before him with a sense of glory beyond all reckoning: this was all his. And more glorious still, all his by his own hand.

For it wasn't always so. And Revan was ashamed to know that it wouldn't always be. Revan remembered the glory days, when he was a simple Jedi Knight, fighting for a just cause that he believed in, against the Mandalorians. He remembered being trained by one of the greatest Jedi of all time, Master Yoda, which, (if his calculations were correct) would be around 4,000 years into the future. He also remembered, when he was a simple-minded wizard, not knowing anything about the world.

Back in the days when he was merely Revan, the galaxy had been a Republic of the stars, cared fro and protected by the Jedi Knighthood that had watched over it for centuries. But inevitably it had grow too large—too massive a bureaucracy had been required, over too many years, in order to maintain the Republic. Corruption had set in.

And not only in the Senate.

Revan knew that the corruption was in the Jedi Order as well.

A few greedy senators had started the chain reaction of malaise, some said; but who could know? A few perverted bureaucrats, arrogant, self-serving—and suddenly a fever was in the stars. Governor turned on governor, values eroded, trusts were broken—fear had spread like an epidemic in those early years, rapidly and without visible cause, and no one knew what was happening, or why.

And so Revan had seized the moment. Through power plays, political maneuvering, and clever promises, he'd managed to get himself elected as the Supreme Commander of the Republic Army. And then through subterfuge, popularity, and pure, utter strength, he'd named himself Emperor.

Emperor. It had a certain ring to it. The Republic was crumbling. The Empire was resplendent with its own fires, and would always be so—for the Emperor knew what others refused to believe: the dark forces were the strongest.

He'd known this all along, in his heart of hearts—but relearned it every day: from the traitorous lieutenants who betrayed their superiors for favors; from weak-principled functionaries who gave him the secrets of local star system's governments; from greedy landlords, and sadistic gangsters, and power-hungry politicians. No one was immune, they all craved the dark energy at their core. The Emperor had simply recognized this truth, and utilized it—for his own aggrandizement, of course.

For his soul was the black center of the Empire.

He contemplated the dense impenetrability of the deep space beyond the window. Densely black as his soul—as if he _were_, in some real way, this blackness; as if his inner spirit was itself this void over which he reigned. He smiled at the thought: he _was_ the Empire; he _was_ the Universe.

Behind him, he sensed Malak still waiting in genuflection. How long had the Dark Lord been there? Five minutes? Ten? The Emperor was uncertain. No matter. The Emperor had not quite finished his meditation.

Lord Malak did not mind waiting, though, nor was he even aware of it. For it was an honor, and a noble activity, to kneel at his ruler's feet. He kept his eyes inward, seeking reflection in his own bottomless core. His power was great, now, greater than it had ever been. It shimmered from within, and resonated with the waves of darkness that flowed from the Emperor. He felt engorged with this power, it surged like black fire, demon electrons looking for ground… but he would wait. For his Emperor was not ready, and he himself was not ready, and the time was not yet. So he waited.

Finally the chair slowly rotated until the Emperor faced Malak.

Malak spoke first. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"

"Send the fleet to the far side of Lehon. There it will stay until called for."

"And what of the reports of the Republic fleet massing near Sullust?"

"It is of no concern. Soon the Republic will be crushed and young Shan will be one of us. Your work is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders."

"Yes, my master." He hoped he would be given command over the destruction of the Republic. He hoped it would be soon.

He rose and exited, as Emperor Revan turned back to the galactic panorama beyond the window to view his domain.

* * *

A/N: It's been a little while, hasn't it? I finally got some of the materials I needed, so that I could continue this story! I apologize again for the long wait! It's been a few long, hectic months, and I had the WORST writer's block. Hopefully, I'll start posting faster again, but… I have things to do, such as school. So while I hope that it won't be another few months before I post again… Don't expect me to post… hm… tomorrow for instance. Anyways…

Read And Review! But please no flames! Constructive Criticism is ALWAYS nice, but don't use it as a time to just bash me and my story. Because "This story sucks, k bye" isn't anything I can work on! I ask that you format your criticism, so that it goes something similar to this: "I didn't like this story, because of this, and this, and this."

Please and Thank you!

~Beggs


	8. Reign Fall

A/N: Thanks to everyone that's sent me PMs or Reviewed! This chapter is the pivotal point in the story! I believe that this is going to be one of the last chapters that involve Yoda, Anakin, or Obi-Wan being the main focus for quite a while. It'll mostly be all Harry, so no worries! (Notice the use of Harry, instead of Revan…) anyways, here's what happened last time:

* * *

"Let her go, Anakin."

His answer was a predator's snarl, over the body of its prey. "You will not take her from me!"

She wanted to scream, to beg, to howl, _No, Anakin, I'm sorry! I'm sorry… I love you…_, but her locked throat strangled the truth inside her head, and the world-veil of red smoked toward black.

"Let her go!"

"_Never!_"

The ground fell away beneath her, and then a white flash of impact blasted her into night.

* * *

"At an end your rule is, and not short enough it was, I must say."

There appeared a blade the color of life.

From the shadow of a black wing, a small weapon—a holdout, an easily concealed backup, a tiny bit of treachery expressing the core of Sith mastery—slid into a withered hand and spat a flame-colored blade of its own.

When those blades met, it was more than Yoda against Palpatine, more than the millennia of Sith against the legions of Jedi; this was the expression of the fundamental conflict of the universe itself.

Light against dark.

Winner take all.

* * *

Malak spoke first. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"

"Send the fleet to the far side of Lehon. There it will stay until called for."

"And what of the reports of the Republic fleet massing near Sullust?"

"It is of no concern. Soon the Republic will be crushed and young Shan will be one of us. Your work is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders."

"Yes, my master." He hoped he would be given command over the destruction of the Republic. He hoped it would be soon.

He rose and exited, as Emperor Revan turned back to the galactic panorama beyond the window to view his domain.

* * *

Read and Review! Thanks!

Now… On with the story! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eight:**

**Reign Fall  


* * *

**

Blade-to-blade, they were identical. After thousands of hours in lightsaber sparring, they knew each other better than brothers, more intimately than lovers; they were complementary halves of a single warrior.

In every exchange, Obi-Wan gave ground. It was his way. And he knew that to strike Anakin down would burn his own heart to ash.

Exchanges flashed. Leaps were side-slipped or met with flying kicks; ankle sweeps skipped over and punches parried. The door of the control center fell in pieces, and then they were inside among the bodies. Consoles exploded in fountains of white-hot sparks as they ripped free of their moorings and hurtled through the air. Dead hands spasmed on triggers and blaster bolts sizzled through impossibly intricate lattices of ricochet.

Obi-Wan barely caught some and flipped them at Anakin: a desperation move. Anything to distract him; anything to slow him down. Easily, contemptuously, Anakin sent them back, and the bolts flared between their blades until their galvening faded and the particles of the packeted beams dispersed into radioactive fog.

"Don't make me destroy you, Obi-Wan." Anakin's voice had gone deeper than a well and bleak as the obsidian cliffs. "You're no match for the power of the dark side."

"I've heard that before," Obi-Wan said through his teeth, parrying madly, "but I never thought I'd hear it from _you_."

A roar of the Force blasted Obi-Wan back into a wall, smashing breath from his lungs, leaving him swaying, half stunned. Anakin stepped over bodies and lifted his blade for the kill.

Obi-Wan had only one trick left, one that wouldn't work twice—

But it was a very good trick.

It had, after all, worked rather splendidly on Grievous…

He twitched one finger, reaching through the Force to reverse the polarity of the electrodrivers in Anakin's mechanical hand.

Durasteel fingers sprang open, and a lightsaber tumbled free.

Obi-Wan reached. Anakin's lightsaber twisted in the air and flipped into his hand. He poised both blades in a cross before him. "The flaw of power is arrogance."

"You hesitate," Anakin said. "The flaw of _compassion_—"

"It's not compassion," Obi-Wan said sadly. "It's reverence for life. Even yours. It's respect for the man you were."

He sighed. "It's regret for the man you should have been."

Anakin roared and flew at him, using both the Force and his body to crash Obi-Wan back into the wall once more. His hands seized Obi-Wan's wrists with impossible strength, forcing his arms wide. "I am so _sick_ of your _lectures_!"

Dark power bore down with his grip.

Obi-Wan felt the bones of his forearms bending, beginning to feather toward the greenstick fractures that would come before the final breaks.

_Oh,_ he thought. _Oh, this is bad.

* * *

_

The end came with astonishing suddenness.

The shadow could feel how much it cost the little green freak to bend back his lightnings into the cage of energy that enclosed them both; the creature had reached the limits of his strength. The shadow released its power for an instant, long enough only to whirl away through the air and alight upon one of the delegation pods as it flew past, and the creature leapt to follow—

Half a second too slow.

The shadow unleashed its lightning while the creature was still in the air, and the little green freak took its full power. The shock blasted him backward to crash against the podium, and he fell.

He fell a long way.

The base of the Arena was a hundred meters below, littered with twisted scraps and jags of metal from the pods destroyed in the battle, and as the little green freak fell, finally, above, the victorious shadow became once again only Palpatine: a very old, very tired man, gasping for air as he leaned on the pod's rail.

Old he might have been, but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight; he scanned the wreckage below, and he did not see a body.

He flicked a finger, and in the Chancellor's Podium a dozen meters away, a switch tripped and sirens sounded throughout the enormous building; another surge of the Force sent his pod streaking in a downward spiral to the holding office at the base of the Podium tower. Clone troops were already swarming into it.

"It was Yoda," he said as he swung out of the pod. "Another assassination attempt. Find him and kill him. If you have to, blow up the building."

He didn't have time to direct the search personally. The Force hummed a warning in his bones: Lord Vader was in danger.

Mortal danger.

Clones scattered. He stopped one officer. "You. Call the shuttle dock and tell them I'm on my way. Have my ship warmed and ready."

The officer saluted, and Palpatine, with vigor that surprised even himself, ran.

* * *

With the help of the Force, Yoda sprinted along the service accessway below the Arena faster than a human being could run; he sliced conduits as he passed, filling the accessway behind him with coils of high-voltage cables, twisting and spitting lightning. Every few dozen meters, he paused just long enough to slash a hole in the accessway's wall; once his pursuers got past the cables, they would have to divide their forces to search each of his possible exits.

But he knew they could afford to; there were thousands of them.

He pulled his comlink from inside his robe without slowing down; the Force whispered a set of coordinates and he spoke them into the link. "Delay not," he added. "Swiftly closing is the pursuit. Failed I have, and kill me they will."

The Convocation Center of the Galactic Senate was a drummounted dome more than a kilometer in diameter; even with the aid of the Force, Yoda was breathing hard by the time he reached its edge. He cut through the floor beneath him and dropped down into another accessway, this one used for maintenance on the huge lighting system that shone downward onto Republic Plaza through the transparisteel panels that floored the underside of the huge dome's rim. He cut into the lightwell; the reflected wattage nearly blinded him to the vertiginous drop below the transparisteel on which he stood.

Without hesitation he cut through that as well and dived headlong into the night.

Catching the nether edges of his long cloak to use as an improvised airfoil, he let the Force guide him in a soaring free fall away from the Convocation Center; he was too small to trigger its automated defense perimeter, but the open-cockpit speeder toward which he fell would get blasted from the sky if it deviated one meter inward from its curving course.

He released his robe so that it flapped upward, making a sort of drogue that righted him in the air so that he fell feet first into the speeder's passenger seat beside Bail Organa.

While Yoda strapped himself in, the Senator from Alderaan pulled the rented speeder through a turn that would have impressed Anakin Skywalker, and shot away toward the nearest intersection of Coruscant's congested skyways.

Yoda's eyes squeezed closed.

"Master Yoda? Are you wounded?"

"Only my pride," Yoda said, and meant it, though Bail could not possibly understand how deep that wound went, nor how it bled. "Only my pride."

* * *

A hooded figure stood on the bridge of the flagship, watching as the battle raged on outside. Bursts of laser fire crisscrossed between the warring fighters and ships outside. The war between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic had been waging for almost eighteen years now.

Revan's comm beeped. Slightly irritated, he turned the comm on, revealing the large holoscan of Lord Malak bowing. "Arise, Lord Malak. What do you have to report?"

The blue holoscan nodded briefly, before staring at Revan, groveling. "Master, our plans have gone exactly according to plan. Soon, the Jedi scum will be eliminated, and the Republic crushed. Then our glorious Empire will—"

"Enough, Malak." Revan waved him off lazily. "I tire of your incessant rambling. Have you, or have you _not_ taken care of the Jedi taking part in this fight?"

Malak stared at him incredulously, before remembering his place. Kneeling again, Malak replied. "Yes, my Master. The Jedi threat has been eliminated, as you commanded."

Revan smiled. His face had become so twisted, so… _evil_. The smile almost reached his cold, calculating yellow eyes.

_Almost_.

"You have done well, my Apprentice. Take care of the rest of the Republic troops, and report back to my ship. Revan out."

Revan shut off his holocomm link, and pulled off his battle helmet. Rubbing his temples, he sighed to himself. _I fear the end is coming, and soon,_ Revan thought wearily. _The time is close at hand._

Replacing his helmet back onto his head, Revan stood in his normal, standing meditation stance, yellow eyes watching the battle before him unfold, as his flagship rocked from constant fire from the Republic ships.

Suddenly, he felt a familiar presence. Revan's eyes widened for a moment, before narrowing in anger.

_How_ DARE_ the Republic send _HER_ here!_ Revan thought in rage. Unaware of what was happening around him, power consoles were exploding in showers of white-hot sparks. He could only focus on his anger.

Slipping into the Force, he felt it flow through him. His muscles expanded suddenly, and became taut with power.

Bastila Shan was on his ship. With that damned Force technique of hers, Battle Meditation, Revan wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep the Republic at bay.

She needed to die.

_Then,_ Revan thought viciously, _I'll kill Malak for lying to me. The idiot told me that the Jedi had been exterminated!_

It was a pity, really. Malak had been his best friend for so many years, after all.

There was suddenly a hissing sound from the bridge heavy durasteel doors. Revan took a glance back, and smirked beneath his helmet.

Igniting his scarlet red lightsaber, Revan's eyes seemed to glow in the crimson light. Eerie yellow orbs danced in the light of the fire.

It was almost time.

The Jedi were almost done cutting through the door with their blades. Soon, Revan would show them the foolishness they had shown by opposing him, instead of joining.

His aura crackled with an almost electric air.

How long had he longed to see her face once more. She had reminded him slightly of Darra.

Sighing wistfully at the memories, he knew it was time.

A maniacal grin appeared on his face. _If she could be brought to the dark side… she could be a powerful weapon against the Republic._

He had decided.

He would take out the other Jedi, then offer Shan a place at his side as his new apprentice. There was no time for second guesses, no time for what-if's.

Only the here and now.

A wise, old, green wrinkled alien Grand Master of the Jedi Order had once told him, "Do or do not, there is no try."

And so he would.

It was time.

The Jedi came storming in, lightsabers ablaze with righteous fury, with Bastila at the head of the strike team, comprised of two males, and two females. A strike team of four, all human.

"Knight Revan, by order of the Jedi Council and the Galactic Republic, you are under arrest. Don't try to resist."

Revan stared at her behind the strong mask. Finally, he started chuckling, then fully laughing.

Then he stopped. "_Fools_," he hissed at them. "_You think that you can just _arrest_ me?_" Noticing their confused and frightened faces, he realized he had accidentally slipped out of Basic, into Parseltongue.

The last thing they heard before he disappeared out of sight, moving faster than their human eyes could comprehend, was, "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

That was when the first head was separated from the first body. It fell in slow motion, emerald blade extinguished before the male Jedi even hit the ground.

Before they had time to react, Revan had already cut down two out of the original four. Now it was just Bastila and her male Jedi comrade.

Bastila's eyes widened in shock. Suddenly, she understood how he had gained his reputation as one of the best warriors the Jedi Order had ever spawned—then lost. He was picking them off like _flies_. The Order had sent four of their very best, and Revan had just killed two out of four, bent on destroying them as well. Raising her golden blade, she attacked him furiously without end, allowing the Force to flow through her.

Revan parried every blow effortlessly, and raised his eyebrow. Pushing her back with the Force, and casting a wandless Body-Binding curse on her, he went after the final, magenta lightsaber-wielding Jedi.

He didn't put up much of a fight, as Revan placed a surgically-precise cut right through him, effectively separating the Jedi's upper and lower body. With a swirl of his cloak, Revan walked easily towards Bastila, who was still on the floor of the Bridge, paralyzed by the foreign use of magic. She stared up at him with fearful, yet still defying eyes.

Revan allowed himself to bask in the fear and hate she was violently emitting. Summoning her lightsaber to his hand, he smiled as he clipped it onto his belt. "There's no need for that now," he said, waving a gloved finger at her.

Opening his cloak, he pulled out his wand, pointing it at her. Whispering an alien language that Bastila didn't understand, whispery silver light emitted from the normal looking piece of wood. Bastila was afraid.

But she didn't need to be. She felt herself go into a blissful state of pure happiness. Nothing else mattered in the world it seemed. She was perfectly content. Her vision had gone cloudy, and she felt like she was floating on air.

_Stand up,_ a soft, yet comforting voice told her.

She felt herself obeying.

_Good girl. Now, kneel before the Dark Lord, Revan, and ask to be his apprentice. It's the only way to save yourself,_ the voice whispered yet again, in its convincing tone.

But something within her started to question the voice. It wasn't her own, that was certain. What right did it think it had telling her what to do?

_No,_ she told the voice firmly. _I don't want to._

_Kneel before Revan, and he will make you more powerful than you have ever dreamed possible,_ the voice persisted.

_There are other ways. I need to convince him to come back with me. It's the only way he'll be allowed to live,_ she cried in desperation to the voice. She didn't understand why she felt that she needed him to be alive. She didn't understand how she could be so… _compassionate_… to such a monster such as Revan.

Perhaps it was just in her human nature to feel compassion and… what was that? Pity?

The voice became instantly colder. _Kneel. Now!_

_No!_ she cried back.

_Kneel!_ The voice started getting louder, and colder with each word. _KNEEL BEFORE HIM!_

"I WON'T!"

She was lying down, back on the bridge of the ship. Bastila was sweating profusely, trying to catch her breath.

"Pity. I was going to offer you a place as my new apprentice. But I suppose you're too ingrained in your Jedi ways," Revan said calmly. But his voice didn't sound muffled. She stared up into his face.

His face, not his helmet.

He had long, black shaggy hair, with a few battle scars here and there. But the one that stood out the most on his face was a curiously shaped lightning bolt. Even though she knew him to be around thirty-seven, thirty-eight, he looked to be about twenty-three, twenty-four. If it weren't for his yellow, evil-looking eyes, the man might have been very handsome. But the dark side had twisted him, and he was no longer the same.

"Goodbye, Bastila. I've decided that I won't kill you by way of lightsaber, or even physical Force. You see…" He paused here, allowing time for dramatic effect. "I'm going to give you a quick, clean, merciful death." He pointed his wooden stick at her, the same one that had emitted the curious light. He started again in that alien language. A sickly green glow appeared at the tip of the wooden shaft. "_Avada Ked…_"

That was when Revan's world exploded. The last thing he saw, before blacking out from the pain, was Bastila's horrified, and confused expression, as the ship rocked violently from an attack. The last thing he _felt_ however, was Malak's victorious feeling as Revan realized he was going to die.

_Why me?_

Revan blacked out.

* * *

With Anakin's grip on his wrists bending his arms near to breaking, forcing both their lightsabers down in a slow but unstoppable arc, Obi-Wan let go.

Of everything.

His hopes. His fears. His obligation to the Jedi, his promise to Qui-Gon, his failure with Anakin.

And their lightsabers.

Startled, Anakin instinctively shifted his Force grip, releasing one wrist to reach for his blade; in that instant Obi-Wan twisted free of his other hand and with the Force caught up with his own blade, reversing it along his forearm so that his swift parry of Anakin's thundering overhand not only blocked the strike but directed both blades to slice through the wall against which he stood. He slid Anakin's following thrust through the wall on the opposite side, guiding both blades again up and over his head in a circular sweep so that he could use the power of Anakin's next chop to drive himself backward through the wall, outside into the smoke and the falling cinders.

Anakin followed, constantly attacking; Obi-Wan again gave ground, retreating along a narrow balcony high above the black-sand shoreline of a lake of fire.

Mustafar hummed with death behind his back, only a moment away, somewhere out there among the rivers of molten rock. Obi-Wan let Anakin drive him toward it.

It was a place, he decided, they should reach together.

Anakin forced him back and back, slamming his blade down with strength that seemed to flow from the volcano overhead. He spun and whirled and sliced razor-sharp shards of steel from the wall and shot them at Obi-Wan with the full heat of his fury. He slashed through a control panel along the walkway, and the ray shield that had held back the lava storm vanished.

Fire rained around them.

Obi-Wan backed to the end of the balcony; behind him was only a power conduit no thicker than his arm, connecting it to the main collection plant of the old lava mine, over a riverbed that flowed with white-hot molten stone. Obi-Wan stepped backward onto the conduit without hesitation, his balance flawless as he parried chop after chop.

Anakin came on.

Out on the tightrope of power conduit, their blades blurred even faster than before. They chopped and slashed and parried and blocked. Lava bombs thundered to ground below, shedding drops of burning stone that scorched their robes. Smoke shrouded the planet's star, and now the only light came from the hell-glow of the lava below them and from their blades themselves. Flares of energy crackled and spat.

This was not Sith against Jedi. This was not light against dark, or good against evil; it had nothing to do with duty or philosophy, religion or morals.

It was Anakin against Obi-Wan.

Personally.

Just the two of them, and the damage they had done to each other.

Obi-Wan back flipped from the conduit to a coupling nexus of the main collection plant; when Anakin flew in pursuit, Obi-Wan leapt again. They spun and whirled throughout its levels, up its stairs, and across its platforms; they battled out onto the collection panels over which the cascades of lava poured, and Obi-Wan, out on the edge of the collection panel, hunching under a curve of durasteel that splashed aside gouts of lava, deflecting Force blasts and countering strikes from this creature of rage that had been his best friend, suddenly comprehended an unexpectedly profound truth.

The man he faced was everything Obi-Wan had devoted his life to destroying: Murderer. Traitor. Fallen Jedi. Lord of the Sith. And here, and now, despite it all…

Obi-Wan still loved him.

Yoda had said it, flat-out: _Allow such attachments to pass out of one's life, a Jedi must,_ but Obi-Wan had never let himself understand. He had argued for Anakin, made excuses, covered for him again and again and again; all the while this attachment he denied even feeling had blinded him to the dark path his best friend walked.

Obi-Wan knew there was, in the end, only one answer for attachment…

He let it go.

The lake of fire, no longer held back by the ray shield, chewed away the shore on which the plant stood, and the whole massive structure broke loose, sending both warriors skidding, scrabbling desperately for handholds down tilting durasteel slopes that were rapidly becoming cliffs; they hung from scraps of cable as the plant's superstructure floated out into the lava, sinking slowly as its lower levels melted and burned away.

Anakin kicked off the toppling superstructure, swinging through a wide arc over the lava's boil. Obi-Wan shoved out and met him there, holding the cable with one hand and the Force, angling his blade high. Anakin flicked a Shien whipcrack at his knees. Obi-Wan yanked his legs high and slashed through the cable above Anakin's hand, and Anakin fell.

Pockets of gas boiled to the surface of the lava, spouting flame like arms reaching to gather him in.

But Anakin's momentum had already swung back toward the dissolving wreck of the collection plant, and the Force carried him within reach of another cable. Obi-Wan whipped his legs around his cable, altering its arc to bring him within reach of the one from which Anakin now dangled, but Anakin was on to this game now, and he swung cable-to-cable ahead of Obi-Wan's advance, using the Force to carry himself higher and higher, forcing Obi-Wan to counter by doing the same; on this terrain, altitude was everything.

Simultaneous surges of the Force carried them both spinning up off the cables to the slant of the toppling superstructure's crane deck. Obi-Wan barely got his feet on the metal before Anakin pounced on him and they stood almost toe-to-toe, blades whirling and crashing on all sides, while around them the collection plant's maintenance droids still tinkered mindlessly away at the doomed machinery, as they would continue to do until lava closed over them and they melted to their constituent molecules and dissolved into the flow.

A roar louder even than the volcano's eruption came from the river ahead; metal began to shriek and stretch. The river dropped away in a vertical sheet of fire that vanished into boiling clouds of smoke and gases.

The whole collection plant was being carried, inexorably, out over a vast lava-fall.

Obi-Wan decided he didn't really want to see what was at the bottom.

He turned Anakin's blade aside with a two-handed block and landed a solid kick that knocked the two apart. Before Anakin could recover his balance, Obi-Wan took a running leap that became a graceful dive headlong off the crane deck. He hurtled down past level after level, and only a few tens of meters above the lava itself the Force called a dangling cable to his hand, turning his dive into a swing that carried him high and far, to the very limit of the cable.

And he let it go.

As though jumping from a swing in the Temple playrooms, his velocity sent him flying up and out over a centenary arc that shot him toward the river's shore.

Toward. Not quite _to_.

But the Force had led him here, and again it had not betrayed him: below, humming along a few meters above the lava river, came a big, slow old repulsorlift platform, carrying droids and equipment out toward a collection plant that its programming was not sophisticated enough to realize was about to be destroyed.

Obi-Wan flipped in the air and let the Force bring him to a cat-footed landing. An adder-quick stab of his lightsaber disabled the platform's guidance system, and Obi-Wan was able to direct it back toward the shore with a simple shift of his weight.

He turned to watch as the collection plant shrieked like the damned in a Corellian hell, crumbling over the brink of the falls until it vanished into invisible destruction.

Obi-Wan lowered his head. "Good-bye, old friend."

But the Force whispered a warning, and Obi-Wan lifted his head in time to see Anakin come hurtling toward him out from the boil of smoke above the falls, perched on a tiny repulsorlift droid. The little droid was vastly swifter than Obi-Wan's logy old cargo platform, and Anakin was easily able to swing around Obi-Wan and cut him off from the shore. Obi-Wan shifted weight one way, then another, but Anakin's droid was nimble as a sand panther; there was no way around, and this close to the lava, the heat was intense enough to crisp Obi-Wan's hair.

"This is the end for you, Master," he said. "I wish it were otherwise."

"Yes, Anakin, so do I," Obi-Wan said as he sprinted into a leaping dive, making a spear of his blade.

Anakin leaned aside and deflected the thrust almost contemptuously; he missed a cut at Obi-Wan's legs as the Jedi Master flew past him.

Obi-Wan turned his dive into a forward roll that left him teetering on the rim of a low cliff, just above the soft black sand of the riverbank. Anakin snarled a curse as he realized he'd been suckered, and leapt off his droid at Obi-Wan's back—

Half a second too slow.

Obi-Wan's whirl to parry didn't meet Anakin's blade. It met his knee. Then his other knee.

And while Anakin was still in the air, burned-off lower legs only starting their topple down the cliff, Obi-Wan's recovery to guard brought his blade through Anakin's left arm above the elbow. He stepped back as Anakin fell.

Anakin dropped his lightsaber, clawing at the edge of the cliff with his mechanical hand, but his grip was too powerful for the lava bank and it crumbled, and he slid down onto the black sand. His severed legs and his severed arm rolled into the lava below him and burned to ash in sudden bursts of scarlet flame.

The same color, Obi-Wan observed distantly, as a Sith blade.

Anakin scrabbled at the soft black sand, but struggling only made him slip farther. The sand itself was hot enough that digging his durasteel fingers into it burned off his glove, and his robes began to smolder.

Obi-Wan picked up Anakin's lightsaber. He lifted his own as well, weighing them in his hands. Anakin had based his design upon Obi-Wan's. So similar they were.

So differently they had been used.

"Obi-Wan…?"

He looked down. Flame licked the fringes of Anakin's robe, and his long hair had blackened, and was beginning to char.

"You were the chosen one! It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them. It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness. You were my brother, Anakin," said Obi-Wan Kenobi. "I loved you, but I could not save you."

A flash of metal through the sky, and Obi-Wan felt the darkness closing in around them both. He knew that ship: the Chancellor's shuttle. Now, he supposed, the _Emperor's_ shuttle.

Yoda had failed. He might have died.

He might have left Obi-Wan alone: the last Jedi.

Below his feet, Darth Vader burst into flame.

"I _hate_ you," he screamed.

Obi-Wan looked down. It would be a mercy to kill him.

He was not feeling merciful.

He was feeling calm, and clear, and he knew that to climb down to that black beach might cost him more time than he had.

Another Sith Lord approached.

In the end, there was only one choice. It was a choice he had made many years before, when he had passed his trials of Jedi Knighthood, and sworn himself to the Jedi forever. In the end, he was still Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he was still a Jedi, and he would not murder a helpless man.

He would leave it to the will of the Force.

He turned and walked away.

After a moment, he began to run.

He began to run because he realized, if he was fast enough, there was one thing he still could do for Anakin. He still could do to honor the memory of the man he had loved, and to the vanished Order they both had served.

At the landing deck, C-3PO stood on the skiff's landing ramp, waving frantically. "Master Kenobi! Please hurry!"

"Where's Padme?"

"Already inside, sir, but she is badly hurt."

Obi-Wan ran up the ramp to the skiff's cockpit and fired the engines. As the Chancellor's shuttle curved in toward the landing deck, the sleek mirror-finished skiff streaked for the stars.

Obi-Wan never looked back.

* * *

Fire. Everywhere.

Bastila looked at the broken man who lay crumpled before her. Her sense as a Jedi compelled her to leave the Sith there, and tell the Order that her mission had been a success.

But her sense as a human being told her to try to help the quickly dying man.

The ship was rocking, explosions more and more frequent. She knew that if she didn't get out soon, then she would die here as well.

There was only one thing to do.

The only thing her conscience would _allow_ her to do.

She picked up Revan, using the Force to help her support his outrageous weight, considering the amount of battle armor he had on. Looking at the odd stick he had had in his hand before he was almost killed, she picked it up off of the ground, and pocketed it. The Order would most likely be _very_ interested in that. Gazing at his lightsabers that he had clipped on his belt, she decided to take those, as well.

The ship was rumbling, and she could feel every impact that an energy blast made onto the ship.

Everything was dead on this ship. And everything that wasn't, had fled already. She needed to escape, and fast.

Sprinting down the ship's halls, she finally got to the flagship's main hangar. Luckily, her ship that she had arrived in was still intact. Angry bolts of energy were pounding at the flagship. Using the Force, she flicked on the engine of her starfighter. Pushing Revan into the back of her cockpit, she strapped him in with the Force.

Hopping into her seat, she strapped herself in as well, and took off, out of the hangar, speeding out to the Republic cruiser.

The flagship behind her exploded in shrapnel and fire.

Revan started to stir behind her. "Wha-Where am I?"

Bastila almost froze in horror. Revan would kill her, and then the Republic would lose the war.

It was unthinkable.

Revan spoke again, but not in his usual, cold, uncaring way. He sounded genuinely confused. "What's going on? Where am I?"

Bastila looked straight ahead, dodging the energy blasts, and fighters trying to destroy her.

"Who are _you_? What do you want with me?" Revan sounded scared.

Bastila was getting more and more frightened by the moment. He could kill her at any time.

He could _kill_ her.

"Are you working with Voldemort?"

Now she was confused. "_Who_?"

"Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Dark Lord, Leader of the Death Eaters, the one who gave me my scar…" Revan paused. "Oh. You must be a muggle then," he said simply.

Bastila glanced back at him, unbelieving. "A _what_?"

Revan smiled back at her. "A muggle. A non-magic user."

Bastila looked unbelieving at him for a moment, before remembering lessons she had been taught in the Jedi Temple so long ago.

Some of the more primitive cultures called the Force "magic", because they had no other knowledge of it.

She laughed nervously. _What's going on?_ "I assure you, Revan, I'm not a muggle. I'm a Jedi Knight of the Galactic Republic."

"Who's Revan? My name's Harry." Revan sounded lost. "And what's a Jedi? Is that a weird type of military class that the Americans are using these days?"

If anything, Bastila was even _more_ confused.

Avoiding the bolts of energy being sent her way, Bastila rammed her way into the Republic cruiser's Main Hangar.

Narrowly avoiding the Hangar wall, she circled around before she finally landed. Breathing heavily, she sighed. Republic marine troopers came up to her starship, blaster rifles aimed, ready to be fired.

Bastila turned around, and looking at Revan's confused face. "Stay here, and stay low. If any one of those troopers outside see your face, they'll kill you on sight, Revan."

Revan nodded, but whispered again, "My name's _Harry_, not Revan!" but she wasn't paying attention.

Bastila came out of her cockpit, with her hands up, looking slightly disheveled. The commander of the Marines took a good look at her, before commanding his troops to stand down.

All rifles pointed away from Bastila, and she sighed in relief. "Thanks, Commander."

The Commander nodded, and ordered his men to get back to work.

Reaching back into her cockpit, she called to the retreating Commander's back. "Is there any way I could call the Order from here? My holocomm broke, and I need to report back to them."

The Commander nodded again, and barked a few commands to a few Marine troopers. One hurriedly brought another holocomm up to the Commander, and handed it to him.

"Here you go, Knight Shan."

"Thank you, Commander. You're doing a fantastic job." Then, without paying any more attention to him, she typed in the correct symbols and digits, and a moment later, the Council appeared on her Holoscan.

"Knight Shan, what a pleasant surprise! I'm assuming you're reporting on your mission, correct?" One Master had said with a smile on his face, but it didn't quite reach his battle-hardened eyes.

"That's right, Master. I wanted to inform the Council that—"

Another Master interrupted her. "What of the others? Why are they not here, reporting with you as well?"

"They were killed, Masters. We infiltrated Revan's flagship, and we eventually cornered him. But…" Here, Bastila paused. The pang of their deaths just starting to hit her.

The first Master that had greeted her looked at her concerned, but said, "Continue with your report, Knight Shan. Did you kill Revan?"

Bastila glanced over at her starship, then back at the Council. Fighting back the tears from the loss of her comrades, she allowed the Force to flow through her, to calm her, to tell her that everything would be all right.

"Better than that, Master."

The Masters looked surprised. "How so?"

"I captured him. He seems to be physically fine and able, but his mind..." Bastila paused, lowering her voice. "His mind is gone. He thinks that his name is '_Harry_', and that the Force is called '_magic_'."

Bastila felt a warm feeling coming from over where Revan was hiding. She took a glance back at the starship once more, and saw Revan peeking at her, waving and smiling. She glared at him, and he immediately hid once more. Turning her attentions back to the Council, she continued her report. "He also asked me if I was a follower of a Dark Lord named 'Voldemort'. I was hoping that one of you could shed some light on that for me."

The Council members sat there, pondering her words for a moment. None of them could think of a Sith by that name. "Perhaps," said a Council member said slowly, "This is a ploy to try to trick us into looking for another Sith Lord, while Revan and Malak plan the Republic's ultimate demise. They still have that blasted Star Forge, after all."

Bastila was silent. Then, thoughtfully, she replied, "What if Revan's mind really _is_ gone, Masters? What if you reprogrammed his mind, so that I could try to extract his memories of where the Star Forge is, without him turning dark on us again?"

The Masters looked thoughtful again once more. "It could work, but this is a very dangerous plan. If we fail, then the Republic will be no more, and Revan and Malak will rule this galaxy with an iron fist."

Bastila suddenly remembered something. "Masters, when I was on Revan's flagship, when he was about to kill me, I remember seeing Malak's flagship turning its energy proton cannons towards us. The last thing I remember before everything started exploding around us, was the giant blast that came from his ship."

The old, wise Master on the Council had sat there the entire Council meeting, listening to every word. Finally, he spoke. "Treachery is the way of the Sith." Then, his holoscan self appeared to stare right through her, his gaze piercing her very soul. "Bring Revan to us. I trust that you know what you're doing, Knight Shan."

And with that, the holocomm connection shut off.

Bastila sighed, and turned back towards Revan.

It was going to be a long trip home.

What Bastila hadn't noticed, however, was the fact that Revan's eerie yellow eyes were in fact a brilliant emerald green now instead.

* * *

Malak sat, pondering his actions against his former Master. He could no longer feel Revan's Force presence. Feeling victorious at last, he stood from his meditating position.

It was time to let the Republic who was _really_ in charge.

No more following orders from weak Masters.

No more plans that wouldn't have instant results.

No more "Yes, Master," here, or "I will, Master," there.

Darth Malak was now _the_ Dark Lord of the Sith.

The universe had better beware.

* * *

A Naboo skiff reverted to realspace and flashed toward an alien medical installation in the asteroid belt of Polis Massa.

_Tantive IV_ reentered reality only moments behind.

And on Mustafar, below the red thunder of a volcano, a Sith Lord had already snatched from the sand of black glass the charred torso and head of what once had been a man, and had already leapt for the cliffbank above with effortless strength, and had already roared to his clones to _bring the medical capsule immediately!_

The Sith Lord lowered the limbless man tenderly to the cool ground above, and laid his hand across the cracked and blackened mess that once had been his brow, and he set his will on him.

_Live, Lord Vader. Live, my apprentice._

_Live.

* * *

_

Beyond the transparent crystal of the observation dome on the airless crags of Polis Massa, the galaxy wheeled in a spray of hard, cold pinpricks through the veil of infinite night.

Beneath that dome sat Yoda. He did not look at the stars.

He sat a very long time.

Even after nearly nine hundred years, the road to self-knowledge was rugged enough to leave him bruised and bleeding.

He spoke softly, but not to himself.

Though no one was with him, he was not alone.

"My failure, this way. Failed the Jedi, I did."

He spoke to the Force.

And the Force answered him. _Do not blame yourself, my old friend._

As it sometimes had these past thirteen years, when the Force spoke to him, it spoke in the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Too old I was," Yoda said. "Too rigid. Too arrogant to see that the old way is not the _only_ way. These Jedi, I trained to become the Jedi who had trained me, long centuries ago—but those ancient Jedi, of a different time they were. Changed, has the galaxy. Changed, the Order did not—because _let_ it change, _I_ did not."

_More easily said than done, my friend._

"An infinite mystery is the Force." Yoda lifted his head and turned his gaze out into the wheel of stars. "Much to learn, there still is."

_And you will have time to learn it._

"Infinite knowledge…" Yoda shook his head. "Infinite time, does that require."

_With my help, you can learn to join with the Force, yet retain consciousness. You can join your light to it forever. Perhaps, in time, even your physical self._

"Become one with the Force, yet influence still to have…" Yoda mused. "A power greater than all, it is."

_It cannot be granted; it can only be taught. It is yours to learn, if you wish it._

Slowly, Yoda nodded. "A very great Jedi Master you have become, Qui-Gon Jinn. A very great Jedi Master you always were, but too blind I was to see it."

He rose, and folded his hands before him, and inclined his head in the Jedi bow of respect.

The bow of the student, in the presence of the Master.

"Your apprentice, I gratefully become."

He was well into his first lesson when the hatch cycled open behind him. He turned.

In the corridor beyond stood Bail Organa. He looked stricken.

"Obi-Wan is asking for you at the surgical theater," he said. "It's Padme. She's dying."

* * *

Unlike other buildings in the vast sprawl of Coruscant, the Jedi Temple stood alone. A colossal pyramid with multiple spires rising skyward from its flat top, it sat apart from everything at the end of a broad promenade linking it with bulkier, sharper-edged towers in which solitude and mediation were less likely to be found. Within the Temple were housed the Jedi Knights and their students, the whole of the order engaged in contemplation and study of the Force, in codification of its dictates and mastery of its disciplines, and in training to serve the greater good it embodied.

The Jedi Council room dominated a central portion of the complex. The Council itself was in session, its doors closed, its proceedings hidden from the eyes and ears of all but fourteen people. Twelve of them—some human, some nonhuman—comprised the Council, a diverse and seasoned group who had gravitated to the Order from both ends of the galaxy. The final two, who were guests of the Council this afternoon, were Bastila Shan and Harry Potter (as he kept insisting his name was)who was also known as the former Dark Lord Revan.

The seats of the twelve Council members formed a circle facing inward to where Bastila and Harry stood, the former relating the events of the past few weeks, the latter a step behind the former, listening intently, trying to grasp what was happening. The room was circular and domed, supported by graceful pillars spaced between broad windows open to the city and the light. The shape of the room and the Council seating reflected the Jedi belief in the equality of and interconnection of all things. In the world of the Jedi, the balance of life within the Force was the pathway to understanding and peace.

The Masters sat, watching Harry's movements, eyes narrowed. Harry looked around in awe, not quite understanding what was taking place.

Bastila pulled out the long stick of wood that she had recovered from Revan after he had been knocked unconscious. She placed it before the Masters.

Harry saw it, and recognized it immediately. "That's my wand! Where did you find it?"

Bastila looked over at him, and gave him an arched eyebrow, before continuing speaking to the Council.

Harry stepped up, and grabbed it from her. "I'll just take this back now." Harry smiled. "How can I ever repay you?"

Instantly, all twelve Jedi Masters were on their feet, lightsabers drawn. "Drop the stick, boy."

Harry was confused, and felt automatically felt threatened. "What are you doing?"

Another Master growled at him. "He said, drop the stick, if you know what's good for you."

The air instantly dropped forty degrees. A few Masters shivered slightly. "Put your weapon down, if you know what's good for you," another Master said, in a slightly nervous voice.

_Harry._

Harry looked around. _What? Who said that?_

_Harry, it's okay. Lower your wand._

_Who are you?_

_Just do it, okay?_

Harry stared around for a moment, before lowering his wand. "Who _are_ you people?"

He heard shuffling around behind him, and as he turned, he received a blow to the head. The last thing he could remember before he blacked out, was Bastila's pitying gaze, and the sound of the Masters congratulating themselves on a job well done.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat beside her, holding one cold, still hand in both of his. "Don't give up, Padme."

"Is it…" Her eyes rolled blindly. "It's a girl. Anakin thinks it's a girl."

"We don't know yet. In a minute… you have to stay _with_ us."

Below the opaque tent that shrouded her from chest down, a pair of surgical droids assisted her with her labor. A general medical droid fussed and tinkered among the clutter of scanners and equipment.

"If it's… a girl—oh, oh, oh _no_…"

Obi-Wan cast an appeal toward the medical droid. "Can't you do something?"

"All organic damage has been repaired." The droid checked another readout. "This systemic failure cannot be explained."

_Not physically_, Obi-Wan thought. He squeezed her hand as though he could keep life within her body by simple pressure. "Padme, you _have_ to hold on."

"If it's a girl…," she gasped, "name her Leia…"

One of the surgical droids circled out from behind the tent, cradling in its padded arms a tiny infant, already swabbed clean and breathing, but without even the hint of tears.

The droid announced softly, "It's a boy."

Padme reached for him with her trembling free hand, but she had no strength to take him; she could only touch her fingers to the baby's forehead.

She smiled weakly. "_Luke…_"

The other droid now rounded the tent as well, with another clean, quietly solemn infant. "…and a girl."

But she had already fallen back against her pillow.

"Padme, you have twins," Obi-Wan said desperately. "They _need_ you—please hang on…"

"Anakin…"

"Anakin… isn't here, Padme," he said, though he didn't think she could hear.

"Anakin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… Anakin, please, I _love_ you…"

In the Force, Obi-Wan felt Yoda's approach, and he looked up to see the ancient Master beside Bail Organa, both staring the same grave question down through the surgical theater's observation panel.

The only answer Obi-Wan had was a helpless shake of his head.

Padme reached across with her free hand, wit the hand she had laid upon the brow of her first born son, and pressed something into Obi-Wan's palm.

For a moment, her eyes cleared, and she knew him.

"Obi-Wan… there… is still good in him. I know there is… still…"

Her voice faded to an empty sigh, and she sagged back against the pillow. Half a dozen different scanners buzzed with conflicting alarm tones, and the medical droids shooed him from the room.

* * *

He stood in the hall outside, looking down at what she had pressed into his hand. It was a pendant of some kind, an amulet, unfamiliar sigils carved into some sort of organic material, strung on a loop of leather. In the Force, he could feel traces of the touch of her skin.

When Yoda and Bail came for him, he was still standing there, staring at it.

"She put this in my hand—" For what seemed the dozenth time this day, he found himself blinking back tears. "—and I don't even know what it is."

"Precious to her, it must have been," Yoda said slowly. "Buried with her, perhaps it should be."

Obi-Wan looked down at the simple, child-like symbols carved into it, and felt from it in the Force soaring echoes of transcendent love, and the bleak, black despair of unendurable heartbreak.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. Perhaps that would be best."

* * *

Around a conference table on _Tantive IV_, Bail Organa, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Yoda met to decide the fate of the galaxy.

"To Naboo, send her body…" Yoda stretched his head high, as though tasting a current in the Force. "Pregnant, she must still appear. Hidden, safe, the children must be kept. Foundation of the new Jedi Order, they will be."

"We should split them up," Obi-Wan said. "Even if the Sith find one, the other may survive. I can take the boy,. Master Yoda, and you take the girl. We can hide them away, keep them safe—train them as Anakin _should_ have been trained—"

"No." The ancient Master lowered his head again, closing his eyes, resting his chin on his hands that were folded over the head of his stick.

Obi-Wan looked uncertain. "But how are they to learn the self-discipline a Jedi needs? How are they to master skills of the Force?"

"Jedi training, the sole source of self-discipline is not. When right is the time for skills to be taught, to us the living Force will bring them. Until then, wait we will, and watch, and learn."

"I can…" Bail Organa stopped, flushing slightly. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Masters; I know little about the Force, but I do know something of love. The Queen and I—well, we've always talked of adopting a girl. If you have no objection, I would like to take Leia to Alderaan, and raise her as our daughter. She would be loved with us."

Yoda and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. Yoda tilted his head. "No happier fate could any child ask for. With our blessing, and that of the Force, let Leia be your child."

Bail stood, a little jerkily, as though he simply could no longer keep his seat. His flush had turned from embarrassment to pure uncomplicated joy. "Thank you, Masters—I don't know what else to say. Thank you, that's all. What of the boy?"

"Cliegg Lars still lives on Tatooine, I think—and Anakin's stepbrother… Owen, that's it, and his wife, Beru, still work the moisture farm outside Mos Eisley…"

"As close to kinfolk as the boy can come," Yoda said approvingly. "But Tatooine, not like Alderaan it is—deep in the Outer Rim, a wild and dangerous planet."

"Anakin survived it," Obi-Wan said. "Luke can, too. And I can—well, I could take him there, and watch over him. Protect him from the worst of the planet's dangers, until he can learn to protect himself."

"Like a father you wish to be, young Obi-Wan?"

"More an… eccentric old uncle, I think. It is a part I can play very well. To keep watch over Anakin's son—" Obi-Wan sighed, finally allowing his face to register a suggestion of his old gentle smile. "I can't imagine a better way to spend the rest of my life."

"Settled it is, then. To Tatooine, you will take him."

Bail moved toward the door. "If you'll excuse me, Masters, I have to call the Queen…" He stopped in the doorway, looking back. "Master Yoda, do you think Padme's twins will be able to defeat Palpatine?"

Strong the Force runs, in the Skywalker line. Only hope, we can. Until the time is right, disappear we will."

Bail nodded. "And I must do the same—metaphorically, at least. You may hear… disturbing things… about what I do in the Senate. I must appear to support the new Empire, and my comrades with me. It was… Padme's wish, and she was a shrewder political mind than I'll ever be. Please trust that what we do is only a cover for our true task. We will never betray the legacy of the Jedi. I will never surrender the Republic to the Sith."

"Trust in this, we always will. Go now; for happy news, your Queen is waiting."

Bail Organa bowed, and vanished into the corridor.

When Obi-Wan moved to follow, Yoda's gimer stick barred his way. "A moment, Master Kenobi. In your solitude on Tatooine, training I have for you. I and my new Master."

Obi-Wan blinked. "Your new Master?"

"Yes." Yoda smiled up at him. "And your _old_ one…"

* * *

_The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins—but in the heart of its strength lies weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back._

_Love is more than a candle._

_Love can ignite the stars._

(Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith- by Matthew Stover)

* * *

Deep within the Jedi Temple at Coruscant, the Jedi Masters were hard at work, forming the Dark Lord's new personality, and recreating his mind.

Trying to create the person that Revan _should_ have been, before he became a Sith.

Only time would tell if they would be successful.

* * *

A/N: This was the last chapter for a while that'll include Anakin, Yoda, or Obi-Wan as the main characters. From this point onwards, Harry/Revan (and maybe Bastila and Malak) will be the only ones that the story will focus on.

Read and review! But no flames please! Constructive Criticism is nice, but if you're gonna criticize, let me know how I can improve! Thanks!

Until Next Time,

~Beggs


	9. The Mirror Room

A/N: Thanks so much for all of the PM's and reviews that I've gotten. Thanks for caring you guys, it means a lot. =]

I have to apologize yet again for the long wait, as this has been much overdue for some time now. Not quite as long as some of the other chapters sadly, with only 7,600+ words in this one, but still. I hope its appreciated.

I'd like to give a shout out to Joss Whedon for making the wonderful series of Dollhouse, which is currently airing on Fox. As I was reading and editing this chapter, I couldn't help but notice how there were some similarities between the two. So, just in case they try to sue me or something, I'm not claiming to steal ideas from Dollhouse, as these were all my own.

They're just similar is all. An original idea that I had.

Anyways. Glad that's cleared up! Lots and lots of Revan in this chapter, with SOME Bastila.

Yes, Revan will eventually be paired up with her. No, he's not gay. No, she's not gay. Nobody is gay. (even though there is nothing wrong with that.)

Also, Harry/Revan is referred to a LOT in this chapter as "he" or "him", because he has no idea what his name is. So. Bear with me on that, and try to keep that in mind! thanks! =]

Anyways! Read and Review, and enjoy! =D

* * *

_Previously…_

* * *

_Harry stepped up, and grabbed it from her. "I'll just take this back now." Harry smiled. "How can I ever repay you?"_

_Instantly, all twelve Jedi Masters were on their feet, lightsabers drawn. "Drop the stick, boy."_

_Harry was confused, and automatically felt threatened. "What are you doing?"_

_Another Master growled at him. "He said, drop the stick, if you know what's good for you."_

_The air instantly dropped forty degrees. A few Masters shivered slightly. "Put your weapon down, if you know what's good for you," another Master said, in a slightly nervous voice._

_**Harry.**_

_Harry looked around. __**What? Who said that?**_

_**Harry, it's okay. Lower your wand.**_

_**Who are you?**_

_**Just do it, okay?**_

_Harry stared around for a moment, before lowering his wand. "Who __**are**__ you people?"_

_He heard shuffling around behind him, and as he turned, he received a blow to the head. The last thing he could remember before he blacked out, was Bastila's pitying gaze, and the sound of the Masters congratulating themselves on a job well done._

* * *

_Deep within the Jedi Temple at Coruscant, the Jedi Masters were hard at work, forming the Dark Lord's new personality, and recreating his mind._

_Trying to create the person that Revan __**should**__ have been, before he became a Sith._

_Only time would tell if they would be successful._

* * *

**Chapter Nine:**

**The Mirror Room**

* * *

Darkness.

_Are my eyes open?_

He tried opening and closing his eyes.

_Still no light._

He tried pinching himself, and found his skin being pinched tightly by his own fingers.

_Not a dream either._

He was floating there, in the seemingly vast, emptiness that was this spacious darkness. He tried all he could to move from his floating position, but nothing worked. Walking seemed to lead to nowhere. Swimming did nothing. Flapping his arms around just made him feel like a dolt.

_I wish I had a light so that I could see…_

As if by magic, a ball of light appeared in front of him, and he could finally slightly see in this vast, dark, echoing space. Looking down, he saw his naked feet, and a white marble floor.

_Where am I exactly?_

"Hello!" he shouted out. It echoed all around him. _Hello, hello, hello, hello…_ the echoes whispered as the sound moved further and further away from him into the vast nothingness.

Reaching out into the darkness, he found himself touching a hard, solid surface. Concentrating on the ball of light, he called it over to where he was standing. He saw a bright flash of something as it floated slowly towards him. Moving towards where the flash had originated from, he discovered a thin sheet of what appeared to be glass, almost as if there were a window in this dark, empty room. Fog had clouded up the glass, and light shone through. Slowly, one by one, other glass fixtures appeared to line the wall, evenly spaced, with bolts of lightning dancing visibly through the fogged windows.

Looking straight down this dark hallway, he saw what he supposed was the light at the end of this darkened tunnel. Walking forward, he crept at first towards it, moving faster and faster until he was at a full break-neck pace, running towards the light.

After what seemed to be eons, he finally reached the light. But it wasn't just a light. There was a white, large door, with a large brass handle in the shape of a lion. Reaching forward with a somewhat shaky hand, he pulled on the handle and…

…nothing happened. The door was locked.

The light continued to shine through a small window in the door. He peered into it.

The brightness took a moment for him to get used to, but after a moment, his eyes adjusted. He could make out figures, and could faintly hear them laughing, and could barely make out what they were saying.

"And to think, he used to be the most feared in the galaxy. Look at him; he's nothing more than a doll right now. A comatose, _useless_ doll. I don't see why we don't just finish him off right now, while we still have a—" the younger voice said.

"Padawan," the older, rougher voice cut the other off. "He cannot harm us. He has been destroyed enough. It is now up to us to recreate him. Now be _still_, my faithful Padawan."

"But—"

"But nothing. He is—" suddenly the voice cut off, and the owner of it looked up in alarm.

"His subconscious mind is becoming aroused to awaken soon. Quickly, pin his body down while I put him back to his sleep."

Suddenly, he was pushed back from the window forcefully, and landed hard on his back.

_What was THAT for?_

He was in the darkness again. Standing up gingerly, he tried to walk back over to where the door was, but there was an invisible barrier blocking him from the door. Feeling around in the darkness, his hands came upon what felt like a light switch.

Flicking it upwards, he waited with baited breath, hoping, wondering, if anything would happen. Slowly, one by one, each individual light turned on in what he knew now for sure wasn't just a hallway. He was in a room, with windows in every direction he could imagine. Some were foggy, some not quite so much. Looking at the closest one to the now-blocked doorway, he reached out, and rubbed some of the fog away from the glass.

The ball of light he had used to see earlier suddenly disappeared. He simply had no more use for it.

Peering into the window, he saw a lone figure standing on what appeared to be a ledge, looking out into the vast sea of stars. Reaching forward, almost as if in a trance, he felt his hand slip into the glass, as if it were a glistening, crystal clear layer of water. He found himself being sucked in, and try as he might, he couldn't pull himself away from the now seemingly parasitical window frame.

The next thing he knew, he was in darkness. And then he felt it.

Pain. Mind-blowing, excruciating pain.

* * *

He was standing on a strange metal floor surrounded by curious looking machines, facing four strangely dressed individuals who had blurry faces. _Who are they?_

Then a thought struck him: _Who am I?_

He tried reaching out to them, to any of them, calling for help. They just stood there, bars of fire pointed at him, as if accusing him of some horrendous atrocity.

_Hello?_ he called.

_H-Hello?_

That was when the first head was separated from the first body. It fell in slow motion, emerald blade extinguished before the male Jedi even hit the ground.

Before he knew it, however, two of them were dead in a heap on the floor. _Oh no!_

_Why did they fall like that?_

Now it was just the girl and her male friend.

Raising her golden blade, the girl attacked him furiously without end. His eyes started to pop out with fear. Somehow, he parried every blow effortlessly. Pushing her back, he tried to tell her to stop attacking him; that he didn't want to fight. Pushing his hands forward in what he thought was a movement of surrender; he gasped for breath, and waited for the next onslaught.

But it never came.

She suddenly became stiff, as if her body had suddenly gone under the effects of Rigor Mortis.

With a sigh of relief, he turned towards the final male standing, reaching out to him, trying to get him to understand that he wouldn't hurt him… that he just wanted peace…

That was when the man fell apart in two opposite directions, surgically-precise, sliced completely through at his midsection.

With a swirl of his cloak, he walked easily towards the girl, who was still on the floor of the Bridge, paralyzed. She stared up at him with fearful, yet still defying eyes.

Opening his cloak, he pulled out a stick that was in his cloak, pointing it at her. Whispering words that weren't audible to him, whispery silver light emitted from the normal looking piece of wood. The girl appeared to be afraid.

Then, a dreamy, blissful look appeared on her face. But after a few moments, that bliss turned into what looked like an internal struggle.

"I WON'T!"

The girl was lying down, sweating profusely, trying to catch her breath.

He was surprised at her sudden outburst. _She won't? She won't what?_

Turning his intentions back to the girl, he tried to wave the little stick of wood again, attempting to catch her attention. After a while, feeling desperate, he called out to her.

_Please, I don't know what's hap -_

She stared up into his face.

He could see his own reflection in her defiant eyes.

He had long, black shaggy hair, with a few battle scars here and there. But the one that stood out the most on his face was a curiously shaped lightning bolt. Even though he had a gut feeling that knew him to be around thirty-seven, thirty-eight, he looked to be about twenty-three, twenty-four. If it weren't for his yellow, evil-looking eyes, the man might have been very handsome.

He pointed his wooden stick at her, the same one that had emitted the curious light. He tried to ask her to help him, to find out why those other men had died…

That was when his world exploded. The last thing he saw, before his vision was disrupted, was the girl's horrified, and confused expression, as the ground rocked violently.

His vision suddenly flashed a brilliant display of white and red, and he felt as though a magnificent furnace had just ignited within the room.

Slowly, he felt the feeling melt away. He was lying on his back once more, on the floor of the strange mirror room.

_What WAS that?_

* * *

Slowly, shakily, he arose from his position on the floor, and walked. Looking down at himself, he realized that he had no clothing on whatsoever.

_I wish I had some clothing or something… I'm so cold…_

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something. Looking over, it was clean, silky robes, exactly his measurements. _That's odd…_

Pulling them on, he felt instantly a lot warmer than he had before. There was a slight draft in the room, and being in nothing more than Nature's Own had made him slightly cold.

He continued to walk down the seemingly endless hallway, before he reached a window that seemed to call out to him. Remembering what had happened last time, he cautiously approached the window, not letting himself be fooled into touching it. But it was almost as if the window knew it was there, because slowly but surely, another draft started coming through the hallway. But this time, it was sucking him into the window, which reminded him somehow of Alice and the Looking Glass (whatever THAT was), and he tried not to fight back as hard. Maybe the pain wouldn't be so bad.

It turned out that he was right.

The immense pain he had felt last time was still there, but it had a short, bee sting-ish quality to it, which left him as immediately as it had arrived. The darkness was just as suffocating this time, but slowly, another image swam into view before him.

He was standing before a magnificent earthen castle near a large, murky lake. The clouds in the sky were white and puffy, swimming across the sky lazily, while the sun played a gentle game of hide-and-seek with them. The green meadows of the grounds of the castle were beautifully well-kempt, and green. At the edge of the grounds was a little wooden cottage, next to the tall, foreboding trees of the forest.

The castle itself seemed to be hundreds of years old, and filled with life. The majestic spires and towers that jutted out to the sky seemed to only add to the beauty of the thing.

The dark, large lake expanded onwards through a valley, and around a bend, where he could not see the edge of the shore any longer. Lazily, a few tentacles popped out of the water, as a large cephalopod surfaced, swimming along in the bright summer sun.

It seemed that the lake was the home of a rather large kraken – _Giant Squid_, something whispered in his brain – and he heard innocent laughter of children. Looking to his left, he noticed a tall, red headed boy and a short, brunette, frizzy-haired girl around the same age as himself, standing and waving at him.

"Come on!" the girl said, laughing playfully as she ran up to him, grabbing him by the arm. "We have to go to the library to study!"

The red headed boy groaned good-naturedly as he walked alongside of them. "Blimey, you can't just tell the poor bloke what to do! We have Quidditch practice, don't we mate?"

He found himself nodding his head in agreement with the boy who had been nudging him a moment before, even though he had absolutely no idea what this Squidkitch was.

The frizzy-haired girl, biting her lip and putting her hands on her hips as she did so, looked slightly put off. "Boys and their sports..."

"Come with us," he found himself saying to her, as he felt a smile appearing on his face. "It would be great if you came along!"

"I really can't," she began. "Exams are next week, Ha-"

Suddenly, screams of terror erupted, as the grassy meadows of the beautiful grounds of the castle turned from lively green to bloody and fiery red. Black-cloaked figures with skull masks emerged from the nearby dark forest, setting fire to what appeared to be a rather large wooden cabin.

Large, mossy, boulder-esque giants were attacking the beautiful castle, punching and kicking, ripping spires off of the castle, knocking down walls with their clubs; he heard screams from inside. The castle would be destroyed, and all of those within it would die. And he couldn't do anything about it.

Glancing at the scene, he noticed a very snake-like man at the lead of the group of masked figures. Suddenly, he felt something on his forehead burn. He slapped his hand up to the pain, and, withdrawing it, saw blood in the shape of a lightening bolt on his palm.

The snake-faced man glided closer and closer over the grounds to where they were. He and the man locked eyes, and the snake man gave a cruel smirk that jutted on the corners of his lips. "_Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra,_" the snake man whispered.

The red haired boy and the frizzy-haired girl fell in a heap behind him, their bodies' cold, their eyes dead and lifeless. He found himself unable to move. His body simply wouldn't respond. The stick of wood in his arm felt empty, cold. The air seemed to turn several degrees colder as the man finally reached where he stood.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._

"How does it feel," the snake-like man hissed calmly, "to know that you are responsible for the deaths of those closest to you?"

His eyes grew cold. "I never thought I'd see you again."

The snake laughed, which didn't reach his cold, treacherous eyes. "You have spunk, child, I'll give you that much."

"How could you kill them? They had never done anything to you!"

Once again, the man laughed. "You should know by now that the Dark Lord does not share with anyone. You are _mine_." A hungry, maniacal glint appeared in the man's eyes. "They put silly ideals of friendship and integrity and…" the man paused, and spat out the final word. "_Love_, into your head. I once thought of you as my equal… Now I know you are nothing to me at all."

His heart was pounding. The gears in his head were working on overdrive. "If I am nothing, then why have you come?"

The man advanced slowly, yet menacingly upon him, stick pointed at him, the tip of it glowing a sickly green. He felt as though his head was about to split in two.

"Boy," the man hissed. "You have no idea, do you? You have no idea how important you are to the moral of all that believe there is 'good' in the world. Pitiful fools. There is no good or evil. There is…"

''Only power, and those who use it,' yeah, I know. You've told me that once before," he bit out.

"And I repeat the same words to you now. Join me, and I will spare you. Defy me, and I will make sure you meet your destruction. Perhaps even with open arms."

"I'll never join you, Riddle."

_Where did THAT come from?_

"Then… you shall _DIE_!"

The sickly green glow that had appeared from the end of Riddle's stick shot out a burst of green fire, which sped towards him like a speeding bullet. Quickly, he said the first words that popped into his mind. "_Expelliarmus!"_

A red burst of light shot forth from his own stick, and connected with the green. Riddle seemed enraged by this, and quickly broke the connection, before shooting off more curses, which he somehow miraculously seemed to dodge.

He ran, dodging the random beams of angry energy that Riddle shot at him, maliciously trying to maim and kill him. He reached the double doors that were the entrance of the large castle, and found that they were knocked in. Running towards the staircase, a large rock was suddenly flung into the castle, and destroyed his only possible exit. Looking around, he saw that a huge eating hall was directly to his right, and ran in, hoping to buy enough time for himself to figure out a plan for himself.

Immediately, the smell of death came upon him, and he almost vomited. He tripped over something heavy, and very… fleshy.

He fell, and opened his eyes, finding himself staring into the lifeless ones of a young boy, dressed in black robes with an odd lion's crest stitched into the fabric. Blinking, he stood up immediately, trying to get away, but everywhere he looked, there were dead bodies lying all over. Some were bloody and mangled; others looked simply as if they had been frightened to death.

"I am giving you one last chance. Join me, or die." Riddle said, his calm voice trembling with carefully repressed rage.

"Never. This ends now!" he roared.

"I was thinking the same exact thing. _Avada Kedavra!_" hissed out Riddle.

He dodged, and yelled _Expelliarmus_ once more. The light energy connected with Riddle and forced him back, while his stick was tugged from his hand. Riddle was now defenseless. Then, somehow, he called his stick back. "I don't think so."

There was a low rumbling coming from outside the castle, and the walls began to shake, dust and rocks tumbling to the ground, as the castle began to implode.

He looked at the man, and said in a cold, low voice, "Time to die, Riddle."

Just as Riddle launched off his final spell.

A blinding light came from his wand and hit Riddle directly in his chest, just as Riddle's hit him.

A warm feeling coursed throughout his entire body, as the light washed over him. The scene faded away, and he was standing back in the hallway of the mirrors.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Bastila looked up. She felt a large tremor in the Force, and she was sure she wasn't the only one who felt it. Immediately, she stood from her meditating position, near where they were working on Revan, and reached out to him.

No, the disturbance wasn't coming from him, even if he was exuding rather curious amounts of Force bursts from his unconscious body.

No, this disturbance was happening from somewhere else. Somewhere, a large amount of Dark Force energy was being used. Sighing, she turned her head away, trying to occupy her mind with other things.

She looked at Revan's unconscious form, and noticed for the first time how peaceful and handsome he looked while he slept. The muscles in his face were relaxed, and weren't in a deep-seated frown, or a twisted look of rage.

He even had a gentle smile on his face. She smiled as well, wondering what he could possibly be dreaming about, if he even _was_ dreaming.

She swept the hair out of his eyes, and rested her hand on the side of his head, cupping his cheek with her palm.

His smile became wider still, and he shifted slightly, nuzzling into her hand.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She jumped back in shock, and whirled around. There was one of the Council Masters standing behind her, surveying her carefully.

"I didn't see you there Master! I—"

"Obviously not, Knight Shan."

"I can explain, sir—"

"There is no need. I can see all ready."

"Sir?"

The Master paused for a moment, to choose his words before continuing on. "You feel it's your duty to watch over him, because you brought him in."

"Yes, Master—"

"And as such, you've meditated here for well over two weeks now."

"Yes, but—"

"There is no reason for you to be here, Knight Shan. You have done you're duty, now let us do ours."

Suddenly, Revan started thrashing wildly about on the soft bed he was laying upon. Bastila rushed over to his side, and tried to get him to be calm. Not sensing it was working, she grabbed his hands.

She felt a sudden pain in her head. Grasping it, the pain sent her sprawling to her knees.

A vision appeared into her head.

* * *

_She whirled around in horror, as she saw a girl had become an Inferius herself. Lowering her black lightsaber, she had dropped to her knees in defeat._

_When it came down to it, she couldn't destroy her._

_The most shocking thing, however, was not that she attacked. It was the fact that she had attacked the other man, the one with the crimson red eyes. As she fell back into her shaking arms, she watched as all of the light that had been there, finally blinked out._

_She looked directly at her, and smiled, closing her eyes, mouthing the words, __**"I love you."**_

_The ones they had been chasing were dead. She was the last one standing on the battlefield, as the others had already left, in pursuit of each of the murderers. Yet, she __wasn't__ standing. She was kneeling, cradling the girl in her arms one last time, fingers gently going through her long golden-brown hair. She gently pushed her dull, rust-colored eyes shut, for the last time._

_She had broken down. Crying, she held onto her body hugging it, not ever wanting to leave, wishing there was some possible way for her to come back. __**"I love you too,"**__ she whispered back, unable to hold the constant flood that gushed out from her emerald eyes. Her beautiful, tan human features lay limp in her arms, her toned body broken. Gently, lifting her up to her torso, she lowered her face, and kissed her, for what was to be the very last time._

_Breaking apart from her, she felt her tears spring loose from her face, onto the girl's own. Wiping them away, she sat there, rocking her and herself, trying to stop the tears._

_But they never did._

_She felt a silent, strong hand rest on his shoulder, and looked up at the owner, with red puffy and swelled eyes. It was an older man. He felt comforting, and friendly, as if she knew him from somewhere. Looking back down at Darra, she couldn't stop her crying._

_The man had tried to comfort him, had tried to tell him that she was now one with the Force. It didn't help any. She didn't understand what that meant. Finally, the man had called another boy over, and together, they tried to lift her up._

_A soft voice called to her, pulling her out of her thoughts. "We need to go. We need to give Darra the proper burial she deserves."_

_She looked up again, and it was the boy speaking. Sniffing, she nodded. Picking her up, cradling her in her arms, she stood up. Walking slowly back to the starship that was waiting for them, she hugged the dead girl tight against her body._

_The wind started to pick up around them, carrying along with it the smell of dead flesh that had been in the sun. The whispers of the dead seemed to echo around them, as she walked up the ramp slowly with the girl's dead body. The boy and the older man kept their distance from her, allowing her to have time with her to grieve. _

_A faint echo, whispered upon the wind, murmuring into her ears…_

_**You shall return…**_

* * *

The pain stopped. Bastila blinked, and found that she was back in the quarters where Revan was lying, with one concerned Jedi Master leaning over her.

"Are you all right, Bastila?" It seemed that all titles had been tossed to the side, as the Master was legitimately concerned about her well-being.

"I just had the strangest vision Master. I—I—"

"Yes, Bastila? Do go on," the Master urged. "What is it that you saw?"

"I… I think I just experienced one of _his_ dreams…"

The Master stared at her in shock. "Are you sure? This is no time for joking around."

"I'm sure Master. He was on a battlefield somewhere, much younger, and there were all of these men in armor… I _was_ him… There were dead soldiers laying on the ground, rotting, and there was just an… _evil_ to the place. There were Jedi there, and a girl had died. I think she was also a Jedi."

The Master stared at her, but motioned for her to continue.

"She had been killed, but somehow, her body was being reanimated, and used against me… him. All I could think about was how I couldn't harm her, even if she was dead, because I loved her too much. But then the girl's body did something strange, and killed the Dark Lord who reanimated her in the first place, by slicing her lightsaber straight into his heart."

The Master looked gravely at her, before turning his back to her, opening his HoloNet communicator with the Jedi Council room.

He conversed quietly, and quickly with a few members, but the words were still clear to Bastila.

"It seems that he's dreaming about his past experiences. He must be tended to at once. It seems Revan is more… versatile than previously imagined. He must be terminated at once."

"No!" Bastila shouted.

The Master turned around, eyebrow raised, and repeated, "No?"

"There's obviously a reason for why I was able to see his vision! What if we have a bond? I _did_ save his life, and Revan's always been famous for his Force Bonding abilities! How do you know that I can't help him stay on the straight and narrow path, Masters?"

The Master stared at her incredulously for a moment. Then another Master, one that he had been communicating with answered. "Knight Shan, we'll give you this one opportunity. But if he begins to show Dark Lord tendencies once he wakes up, we will _not_ hesitate to eliminate the threat. Understood?"

Bastila nodded her head respectfully. "Understood, Master."

* * *

He looked around suspiciously. _Hello? Who's there! I know someone's there!_

He had entered this last window, and had found a gruesome, and heart-wrenching scene awaiting him. But whilst he was crying over the one named Darra's body, he had felt another presence within his mind. Not an evil, or aggressive presence. Merely a small presence, sharing the same body as him.

It was an interesting feeling, to be sure.

But that could be thought about later. All he could think about at the moment was just how much his stomach grumbled. What he wouldn't do for some food.

He walked not even a few meters, before he spied a small picnic table up to the right of him, on the side. Noticing that there were wrapped turkey sandwiches, and lots of treacle fudge, he sat down delightedly, taking a huge bite out of the sandwich, and a large spoonful of fudge.

After feasting on all of the food, and eating every last morsel, he leaned back against the table, patting his stomach, congratulating it for a job well done. It grumbled in content back at him.

_I'm glad that's over with…_

Standing up, he stretched. Looking down the seemingly endless hallway, there was still no end in sight. He felt like he had walked miles, and he was still no closer to the end than he was before.

Sighing, he chose another window at random. Maybe this one would give him some more insight into who he actually was.

Once again, he felt that sharp, stinging sensation, but just as before, it quickly went away as the darkness melted to reveal another scene.

* * *

He and another girl were hidden in the trees of a dark forest. They could now hear what was happening inside the cabin through the back door.

"Where is the beast?" came the cold voice of what he assumed to be the executioner.

"Out—outside," the giant of a man croaked.

He pulled his head out of sight as the executioner's face appeared at the giant's window, staring out at a large half-bird, half-horse. Then they heard another voice.

"We—er—have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I'll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, you're supposed to listen too, that's procedure—"

Macnair the executioner's face vanished from the window. It was now or never.

"Wait here," he whispered to the girl. "I'll do it."

As the other man's voice started again, he darted out from behind his tree, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin patch, and approached the creature.

"_It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall be executed on the sixth of June at sundown—"_

Careful not to blink, he stared up into Buckbeak's fierce orange eyes once more and bowed. Buckbeak sank to his scaly knees and then stood up again. He began to fumble with the knot of the rope tying Buckbeak to the fence.

"_...sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee's appointed executioner, Walden Macnair…"_

"Come on, Buckbeak," he murmured, "come on, we're going to help you. Quietly… quietly…"

"…_as signed below._ Hagrid, you sign here…"

Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak had dug in his front feet.

"Well, let's get this over with, said the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid's cabin. "Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside—"

"No, I—I wan' ter be with him… I don' wan' him ter be alone—"

Footsteps echoed from within the cabin.

"_Buckbeak, move!"_ he hissed.

He tugged harder on the rope around Buckbeak's neck. The hippogriff began to walk, rustling its wings irritably. They still were ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid's back door.

"One moment, please, Macnair," came another voice. "You need to sign too." The footsteps stopped. He heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped his beak and walked a little faster.

The girl's white face was sticking out from behind a tree.

"Hurry!" she mouthed.

He could still hear the older man's pleasant voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees…

"Quick! Quick!" the girl moaned, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. He looked over his shoulder; they were now blocked from sight; they couldn't see Hagrid's garden at all.

"Stop!" he whispered to the girl. "They might hear us—"

Hagrid's back door had opened with a bang. He, the girl, and Buckbeak stood quite still; even the hippogriff seemed to be listening intently.

Silence… then—

"Where is it?" said the reedy voice of the Committee member. "Where is the beast?"

"It was tied here!" said the executioner furiously. "I saw it! Just here!"

How extraordinary," said the older man. There was a note of amusement in his voice.

"Beaky!" said Hagrid huskily.

There was a swishing noise, and the thud of an axe. The executioner seemed to have swung it into the fence in anger. And then came the howling, and this time they could hear Hagrid's words through his sobs.

"Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he's _gone!_ Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!"

Buckbeak started to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. He and the girl tightened their grip and dug their heels into the forest floor to stop him.

"Someone untied him!" the executioner was snarling. "We should search the grounds, the forest—"

"Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?" said the older man, still sounding amused. "Search the skies if you will… Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy."

"O'—o' course, Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid, who sounded weak with happiness. "Come in, come in…"

He and the girl listened closely. They heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the door, and then silence once more.

* * *

The scene faded away and he found himself back in the mirror room lying on his back yet again, still very much alone and without any clue as to who he was, or what he was doing. If only he could pull these pieces of the puzzle that was his memory and mind together, so that he could create a full picture.

_I wish I could somehow know who I am…_

Standing up, he stretched. Looking down the hallway once more, he discovered he was coming to what seemed to be the end. There were large double-doors, made out of Holly, with stone torches alight with dancing fire.

Walking briskly down to the end, he reached up to pull the handle. Pulling it slowly, but with all of his strength, the door started creaking open, as a bright white light crept over him. Finally, he pushed the door all the way open, and took a step inside.

Inside, there were pictures. Pictures of people who had been an influence on someone's life, he guessed. Looking all around, he finally stopped in front of a huge picture frame, with a very large, very real-to-life photograph of himself.

Underneath it, the giant golden plaque read in curvy, beautiful letters: _Harry Potter, also known as Revan the Just_.

He finally knew his name.

Suddenly, floods of memories rushed back to him.

_His parents…_

_Ron…_

_Hermione…_

_The Weasleys…_

_Dumbledore…_

_The D.A._

_Sirius…_

_Darra…_

_Anakin…_

_Obi-Wan…_

_Mace…_

_Yoda…_

_Kreia…_

_Bastila…_

_Hedwig…_

_Hagrid…_

The rush of memories seemed almost too much for Harry to handle. He screamed, grasping his head, as bright white energy poured out of his body.

_Why won't this end?_

_I promise I'll be good…_

_I'm sorry Uncle! I didn't mean to get better grades than Dudley! Don't lock me in that cupboard again…_

_I will not tell lies…_

"KILL ME!" he screamed out.

_Focus, Potter, or the Dark Lord will invade your mind! You have to learn how to block him out! Now, AGAIN!_

_Stand aside, silly girl. Stand aside NOW._

_No, not my baby, I'll do anything…_

_Avada Kedavra!_

Then just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Harry was on his knees, sweating and panting. "I have to find a way out of here…" he said faintly to himself, before blacking out.

* * *

The brain signal monitor by Revan's bedside started showing signs of visible distress. The mind barriers that the Masters had placed within his brain were starting to buckle under an enormous pressure. Beeping violently, it echoed throughout the empty room.

* * *

Somewhere within the Jedi Temple, alien ears perked up. Eyes opening wide with shock, awe, and surprise, the Master jumped up to her feet, running to where Revan lie in his sedated state.

Rushing in, lightsaber ablaze, she prepared herself for a battle.

…But there was nothing different at all about the room. Revan was still in his restive state, just as before, and nothing was missing or moved. At least, that's what it appeared to be at first glance.

Taking a closer look at his monitors, she realized there was something off about the entire situation. The blocks they had placed were either missing, or not there. Something had to be done immediately. She sent a distress signal through the Force to her fellow Council members and Masters. Almost immediately, several Masters came running into the room as well, lightsabers brandished and ready for a battle.

They soon became aware of the fact however, that there wasn't a dangerous foe to be destroyed in the room. Just their friend, and Revan. "My friend, why did you call for us? Everything appears to be normal," one of the Council members spoke.

"Exactly. _Appears_ to be normal." She paused for a moment to let her comment sink itself deep into their brains. "I just checked his vitals and his brain monitors, and it appears that the mind barriers we had in place aren't holding. We need to make them slightly more permanent, I'm afraid."

The Masters looked at each other with grim looks on their faces, before nodding their consent. If you believe it best, that is what shall be done."

The twelve members gathered around Revan's unconscious body, forming a circle. Closing their eyes, and feeling with the Force, they started anew with their efforts to erase the Dark Lord's memories.

Revan's eyes shot open, and the Masters were flung back with an incredible force. The green within his eyes was pulsating, the emerald fire dancing behind the gems. The Masters stood somewhat shakily, but all regained their footing, igniting their lightsabers.

Revan only looked confused. Pulling a thin stick from his pocket, he quickly murmured something that none of them could pick up, flicking it, and immediately twelve beams of energy shot out from the stick, that only four had the foresight of blocking, recovering from the sudden shock of his attack.

It was just like in his dream, he realized. The one with the girl and the other three comrades that were with her. The men and women before him ignited their blades, and one by one, jets of emerald fire, golden lava, and azure energy ignited before him, as they took a battle ready stance. Summoning a blade from one of the unconscious bodies, he took it into his hands, looking for a way to turn it on.

Finally, he found it. With a slight sigh of relief, he ignited the laser sword, which was a magenta flame, and took a clumsy battle ready stance.

"I don't want to fight you. I don't know who you are, but you don't have to do this." Harry called to them.

"If you think that we'll let you leave here alive, Revan, you are sadly mistaken. We do not let traitors live any longer than we have to," one of the men said calmly to him.

"Revan? I think you're mistaking me for someone else," he sighed a breath of relief. "My name's not Revan, it's Harry."

The people opposite of him exchanged weary, guarded looks with each other, but didn't back down. "Lower your weapon then, Harry. If you are indeed Harry, and not Revan as we believe you are, then you have nothing to fear from us."

Harry lowered his weapon slightly, but not his guard. "Lower yours as well then."

Staring incredulously at him, the unidentified men and women gaped. "What did you do to them?" One of them asked, pointing to their fallen comrades.

"Don't worry, they're fine. I stunned them. They'll be back to normal in a few hours." Harry replied easily. "Lower your weapons, and I'll be going."

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that, Revan," a new voice said from the door. It was a beautiful girl, a little shorter than he was, with wavy brunette hair, and round grey eyes. _Bastila_.

"And why not? I've done nothing wrong."

"Because…" she gave a sideways glance towards the remaining Council members before returning her look at him. "Your treatment isn't finished yet, Revan. Please, lie down again, so that we can treat you correctly. You wouldn't want to be…_broken_… the rest of your life, now would you? Come, sit down…"

Harry found himself lying down once more, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I attacked you, I felt threatened because I could feel the presence of someone other than myself in my mind. I hope you can forgive me."

"_Ennervate multiplicus_," Harry said, pointing his wand to the crumpled bodies. Shaking their heads, they all awoke at the same time.

"What happened?"

Leaning back on the bed, he gazed up into Bastila's grey eyes once more, before closing his own emerald. "I trust you," he whispered so that only she could hear. "I don't know why, but I do."

The Masters were slowly putting him back into his Force-induced coma. His eyes drooped, and his hands fell limply at his sides. Working quickly, they formed the barriers around his mind, making him forget this experience, giving him all new memories; an all new identity.

One of the Masters turned to Bastila. "We have all come to the decision that you will become his handler. Once we are done forming his new personality and identity, we leave it up to you to guide him, in hopes of him leading us to the Star Forge, to destroy it."

Bastila nodded. That's all she really _could_ do, she supposed. At least they weren't ordering him dead. However, it struck her rather odd that even though she had taken his stick away from him, he had managed to find another. Then she spied the source.

There had been a decorative tree, with tiny branches growing from the trunk. One of the branches though, seemed to be noticeably missing.

_That solves that mystery I suppose._

* * *

After what seemed to be hours, the Masters stepped away from their meditative states around Revan, and smiled, motioning for Bastila to come over. There lay Revan, sitting up, yawning and blinking. "Hello there, Revan, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I didn't notice you had come in. Did I fall asleep?"

One of the Masters spoke gently to him, "For a little while."

Revan glanced curiously around at their faces. "Shall I go now?"

The same Master spoke. "If you'd like. It's good to have you back with us, Revan."

"Thank you Master. Masters." Standing, Revan bowed to them respectfully, before walking out of the room with a genuine, gentle smile on his face.

"Is it done?" Bastila murmured to the closest Master.

"Indeed." Then, more to himself, than to her, he whispered.

"May the Force be with us all."

* * *

A/N: It's been long overdue, and once again, my apologies. Read and review! But no flames please. They'll be extinguished as soon as I read them. So why waste your time if you don't even like it??

But I hope you DO like it. Regardless, let me know what you think! =]

~Beggs


	10. Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, just to be informed about this.

* * *

I have had a complete lack of inspiration for this story, and basically all of my others as well. I had a plan where it was going to be a trilogy, where Harry starts out extremely angry at the world and such. Turns Sith yada yadaaaa. Then gets sent back into time, where he realizes that Darkness and rage and anger isn't the way to go, defeat his Apprentice, then goes (along with Bastila, who he was going to eventually fall in love with) into the "Outer Regions" "chasing" the rest of Malik's rebellion. At least, that was going to be the cover. In all actuality, they were going to be forced back into the future (how, I haven't/hadn't planned out yet), and then the third book, (I was going to name it something probably like "Purgatory of Paradise"), was going to be Harry "redeeming" Anakin from the hell that he's forced to endure. Wayyyy before Luke and Leia ever grew up. I think somehow I was going to eventually make it so that the Kamino aliens create new tissue for him and such (since their technology is obviously so very advanced, and probably got even more so, since the Empire was in control).

Anywayssss. This story is discontinued. It's been a fun run, but… I can't find the motivation, and I honestly don't know enough to continue this any further. However, I AM putting this (and my other story, Fate of a Wizard) up for adoption. It's been 4 years since I started up this project, and I honestly have no more drive to finish.

Unfortunately, however, I'm taking Dark Lord's Heir off for good. By the time you read this, it won't be on the site anymore. I feel it's way too Mary-Sue and Gary Stu-ish, and I'm not a fan of those. Sorry.

However, PM me if you're interested in continuing the trilogy! (…or just ending it with this story. I honestly don't even care anymore haha. Feel free to rewrite FoaW, and RoD.)

Thank you, and I'm sorry folks.

It's been a fun ride, and I'm glad I was able to share the last few years with all of you.

* * *

Thankful to you forever,  
Beggs  
Faithful Fanfiction Writer, Reader, and Reviewer


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